There Is No Applause
by JennyJoy4
Summary: Hannah gets a job at a mental hospital, translating for a man who will speak only Elvish. But she isn't exactly a huge fan of Tolkien anymore... COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Hannah sighed and blew a few straggling black hairs out of her face. Hitching her purse a little higher on her shoulder, she trudged down the sidewalk toward the imposing building with a sign reading "Grenville Psychiatric Hospital" over the door.

_I knew I was going to end up in the loony bin one day_, she thought wryly to herself. _I just never thought it'd happen before I turned twenty-five!_

If it had been her choice, she wouldn't have been going here anyway. But she needed money, and flipping burgers wasn't cutting it. Life could be expensive for a grad student, as she had discovered. Her feet were beginning to hurt from walking all over town. Grenville wasn't that big a community, but when you had no money for gas and had to walk everywhere you went, it seemed a lot larger.

_I still can't believe I'm doing this,_ she remonstrated with herself as she paused at the bottom of the concrete front steps and stared up at the big glass doors beneath the sign. _Think of the money,_ the voice in her head reminded her, and she climbed the steps.

The money. That was why she was here. She had to remember about the money. After all, it was a pretty big amount. When it had caught her eye in the paper, she had done a double-take.

_Wanted_: the ad had read, _fluent speaker of Tolkein's Sindarin as translator. Part-time and on-call. Please contact Dr. Ron Keller, Grenville Psychiatric Hospital, 555-8407._ And then that magic number: a high salary.

Of course she had called. How often does fate dump that kind of an opportunity in your lap? She had a couple of twinges of misgiving as the phone rang: this sounded like some sort of a prank. But the man who answered was very business-like and set her mind immediately at rest.

"You see, Miss D'Angelo," Ron Keller had said, "we are required to provide information in every language that our clients speak. We recently acquired a new patient who does not appear to understand English and speaks only his own language, which none of us were able to place. Finally, one of our employees recognized it as Tolkein's Elvish—Sindarin, to be exact. So we have been forced to search for someone who can act as a translator for this patient. Were you interested in the position?"

When Hannah said Yes, she was, Dr. Keller had sounded jubilant. Not surprisingly, he said it had been difficult to find someone who spoke fluent Sindarin. He invited her to come for an interview, which she had done. She had been required to attend a few training sessions before she could work with the hospital's "clients", but the job had been hers for the asking. The job—and the great salary that went with it. Scarcity had worked in Hannah's favor and made her a hot commodity as an employee.

Now the idea of the money was all that was keeping her feet moving as she pushed open the glass doors and walked into the hospital. She didn't want to be here—the "clients" kind of frightened her sometimes. And she most certainly didn't want to be dredging up all her old knowledge of Elvish and Tolkein's works. She thought she had put that stuff behind her long ago. Nonetheless, the cash was calling, and she was heeding the call.

Hannah made her way down the corridors to Ron Keller's office, walking quickly by the patients she passed without meeting their eyes. The place looked to Hannah much like any normal hospital, except that the patients were even scarier than the ones she had met in the E.R. at ten o'clock at night. They made her exceedingly nervous. She felt a little guilty about this—after all, she knew it wasn't _their_ fault they were sick—but that didn't stop her feeling wary of them and a little freaked out.

She felt safer once she had reached the sanctity of Dr. Keller's office. He greeted her cheerfully. "Well, I suppose you'd like to meet your client," he said, beckoning her to accompany him. They made their way down the halls toward the patients' quarters, Dr. Keller talking casually the entire time—pointing out different rooms and kindly greeting the patients.

"Mark?" he called, and a young man came over. He was wearing scrubs, which designated him as an employee rather than a patient. Of medium height and build, he had light brown hair and warm hazel eyes behind a pair of wire-rim glasses. "Miss D'Angelo, this is Mark Gideon, part of our ward staff. Mark, this is our new Elvish translator, Hannah D'Angelo."

They shook hands, Hannah tucking her short black hair behind one ear nervously with the other hand. "Miss D'Angelo," Mark said, smiling warmly.

"Pleased to meet you. You can call me Hannah," she replied.

"Mark is the one who first identified the language as Sindarin," Dr. Keller continued. "He's interning here, finishing his degree."

"Oh, are you at Grenville?" Hannah asked, scanning her mind to see if she recognized him from any of her classes.

"No; Mountaintop," he answered, identifying a college in the next town over. "I'm studying psychiatry."

"Dr. Keller?" someone called from nearby.

"Oh, would you excuse me?" Dr. Keller said, and hurried away.

"This way," Mark Gideon said, gesturing down the hall. "So are you at Grenville?" he asked as they made their way through the ward.

"Yeah."

"What are you majoring in?"

"Philosophy," Hannah answered.

Mark smiled. "What are you going to do with a degree in that?"

"I have no idea," Hannah admitted.

Mark stopped before one of the doors and knocked on it gently. A voice emanated from within, heavily accented. "Yes?"

"He's trying to learn English," Mark explained quietly as he opened the door.

The patient's room reminded Hannah of the nursing home her grandmother lived in—small and scantily furnished, very impersonal. The patient was seated on the bed, but he rose courteously as they entered. His hair was shoulder-length and dark, and he was exceedingly tall. He had a dark beard, and looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. He was dressed in street clothes, like the other patients. But for his long hair, he would've looked perfectly normal.

"Good morning, Amondaur" Mark addressed him.

"Good morning, Mark," the man replied in his halting, accented English. He smiled warmly at the staff member, then looked quizzically at Hannah.

She took a deep breath and willed herself to be calm and professional. Stepping forward and extending her hand, she said, "_Govaded vaer le, Amondaur. Eneth nîn Hannah. Im sí le anno dulu_."

The man took a deep breath and stared at her in wonderment. His eyes misted over, and Hannah was afraid for a moment that he was going to cry. He smiled widely and caught her hand up in both of his. To her great surprise, instead of shaking it, he kissed her knuckles.

"_Pedil i lam edhellen? Le hannon,_" he answered in a heart-breakingly sincere voice. "_Le hannon o guren!_"

Hannah glanced back at Mark. He looked impressed, and gestured for her to continue.

"_Please! Take a chair!_" Amondaur continued, gesturing to a couple of chairs by the bed. He waited until Hannah and Mark were seated before taking a seat himself on the edge of his bed.

"_How is it you speak Elvish?_" he asked Hannah.

"_I studied it. But it has been several years since I spoke it, so please forgive me if I am slow!_" Hannah answered. Indeed, she had been forced to go out and find a good scholarly Sindarin dictionary and bone up between classes for a few days. This useful tome was even now sitting in the bottom of her purse, just in case she got in out of her depth.

"_No, no, I am only too pleased!_" Amondaur protested joyfully.

"Ask him who he is and where he's from," Mark prompted her. Hannah repeated the question to Amondaur.

"_My name is Amondaur, Aradun's son. I am a Dúnedain, a Ranger of the North,_" Amondaur declared calmly, bowing. "_I come from Eriador._"

Trying to hide her annoyance, Hannah repeated this answer to Mark.

"Well, that's not very helpful, is it?" Mark commented disappointedly.

"Did you really expect him to admit he was Phil Jones from Hoboken?" Hannah asked sarcastically.

Mark grinned. "No, I suppose not. But hope springs eternal, you know."

Hannah bit back a caustic reply and turned back to Amondaur. "_How did you come to be here?_" she asked him.

Dr. Keller had told her that Amondaur had been spotted on the road not far from a state park, dressed like a Ranger of the North and carrying medieval weapons—a bow, a hunting knife, and an impressively long broadsword. Someone had called the cops, who drove up to speak to this curious character. He seemed very wary of their car, and went for his weapons when they approached. He didn't speak English, but seemed to understand that the police meant him no harm. In the end, they tazed him when he wouldn't give up his weapons, disarmed him, and took him to the mental hospital. Upon regaining consciousness, he had seemed distressed and angry at the absence of his personal effects, and amazed by anything resembling modern technology. When he realized that his "captors" meant him no harm he had calmed down. But the lack of means of communication with him had proved difficult. Eventually, Mark had recognized a few words the patient spoke as Elvish, and the rest was history.

Amondaur sighed sorrowfully and rubbed his forehead. "_I was out hunting a few weeks ago, in the forest. One moment everything was fine, and the next—the forest changed_." He paused, trying to describe it. "_The trees were different, and_…" he shrugged, overwhelmed by the memory. "_It was simple different. In an eye's blink!_

"_I began walking again, and eventually left the forest and reached some kind of road. There were strange engines being driven up and down it. One engine stopped very near me, and two men got out of it—they were in some kind of uniform. They approached me; I was wary of them. They did not seem to understand the Common Tongue—no one here does. They seemed to mean me no harm, but they were unhappy that I carried weapons, and apparently wanted to disarm me. Of course, this I could in no way allow. Then something—_" He stopped, obviously unable to describe the experience of being tazed. Shaking his head, he continued. "_There was a jolt of pain, and I blacked out. When I came to, I was here in this building._"

Hannah's Elvish was rusty, and Amondaur was using vocabulary she had never heard before, so she had to ask him to repeat a few things and she took a few notes before she was able to understand all that he said. She translated it for Mark, who took notes to put into Amondaur's record.

"He speaks Elvish quite fluently," Hannah added, "and is using vocabulary that was unrecorded in any of Tolkein's writings. It's logical for the rules of the language, however." She paused, with an idea. "_What year is it_?" she asked Amondaur.

Looking bemused, he answered, "_3015 of the Third Age_."

"He says the year is TA 3015—that's two years before the War of the Ring."

"_Hannah_?" Amondaur said, drawing her attention back to him. "_Can you tell me where I am?_" His eyes pleaded with her. "_What country is this? And what is this place I have been brought to? It seems some sort of charity house, and many of the people here appear to be… unwell_," he said tactfully.

Hannah debated for a moment how to answer him. Finally she turned back to Mark and related Amondaur's question. "What should I tell him?" she asked.

"The truth," Mark answered immediately. "He is in the US, in a state institution. Assure him that he is quite safe here."

Hannah thought hard how to translate this. "_This country is called America_," she finally told Amondaur. "_This building is part of a program run by the government. You are quite safe here_." Mark hadn't said to tell the man that he was in a psychiatric hospital, so Hannah didn't make that clear. She wasn't sure how Amondaur would react to it. He was playing the part of a Ranger to the hilt (Hannah ignored the pun), and she felt a Ranger would probably be upset at being institutionalized. So she hedged around the issue. Her logical side told her it was a bad idea, but her compassionate side disagreed.

Amondaur nodded, sad but unsurprised. "_It seems to be well-run_," he offered after a minute, as if trying to change the subject to take his mind off of his homesickness and bewilderment. "_And Mark—he is a good man. He has been a great comfort to me in his kindness_."

Hannah reported these words tonelessly to Mark, who looked deeply gratified. "_Le hannon_," he said sincerely to Amondaur, who smiled back.

000

A few more questions and explanations passed as Mark took notes. Finally, Hannah glanced at her watch. "My time is up; I have a class to get to," she said, and stood. Mark and Amondaur followed suit.

"_I must go, Amondaur,_" she told him. He looked devastated. "_I will be back tomorrow,_" she assured him quickly. He looked mollified by this. She offered him her hand, and he took it in both of his again.

"_Thank you very much for coming,_" he said earnestly. "_It is a great relief to be able to speak with someone!_"

Hannah felt a stab of pity for him. Deluded he might be, but it was a very lonely delusion.

"You were amazing," Mark told her as he escorted her down the halls to the front door. Hannah didn't know what to answer.

"So you're the one who realized he was speaking Sindarin?" Hannah asked after a moment, searching around for a topic of conversation to end the awkward silence.

"Yeah. I only know a few words, though, so I wasn't much use as an interpreter," Mark admitted regretfully.

Hannah almost smiled. _He's probably picked up those words by reading fanfiction,_ she thought a little scornfully. _But he apparently knows that the Common Tongue wasn't English, which bodes well; it means he read the books and the appendices, at least. Not an expert, but I could've had a bit of respect for him, I suppose._

But this remembrance of her past interest in the subject wiped the smile from her face, and Mark's next words didn't help in the least.

"I take it you're a fan as well!" he said, stating the obvious. "What did you think of the movies?"

"I haven't seen them," Hannah answered, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"You haven't?" Mark sounded very surprised.

"No," she said shortly.

"Ah. Are you a purist? Afraid they won't do the books justice?"

"No," Hannah answered in irritation, "I just don't really like fantasy anymore." When he looked about to ask more, she continued, "I was obsessed with Tolkein once, but it's been several years since I gave it up."

"Oh," he said a little uncomfortably, and surrendered to Hannah's sullen silence.

This continued until they reached the front doors.

"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow," he said, would-be cheerfully.

"Yeah."

"Have a good day!"

"You too." She made her way down the steps as quickly as she could, and paced off in the direction of Grenville College.

**TBC**

**

* * *

AN:**

Quotations in italics should be understood to have been spoken in Elvish.

_Govaded vaer le_: Pleasure meeting you.

_Eneth nîn_: My name is…

_Im sí le anno dulu_: I'm here to help you

_Pedil i lam edhellen_: You understand Elvish?

_Le hannon_: Thank you

_Le hannon o guren_: Thank you from my heart

Amondaur means "high hill". Aradun means the same.

The idea for this came from an article I read about how a mental hospital in Oregon needs somebody who speaks Klingon to translate for some of their patients. Big thanks to the Sindarin Phrasebook for the Elvish, and to the Council of Elrond for the names! Links to these and the Klingon article can be found on my bio page.


	2. Chapter 2

Hannah didn't get back to her room until just before dinner that night. She walked in the door, dropped her backpack on the floor, and flopped onto the couch with a sigh.

"Stupid undergrads," she groaned. "Did that guy playing the bass until one o'clock in the morning keep _you_ up?" she asked her roommate. "Because _I _sure couldn't get to sleep."

"Nope. Is that why you're so grumpy?" Erica asked from her desk, not removing her glance from her monitor.

Physically, Hannah and Erica were about as different as two people could get. While Hannah was a little short, with dark eyes and short, straight black hair, Erica was tall and thin with long, curling blonde locks. Hannah always wore her hair down; Erica always wore hers up. Erica was athletic; Hannah really wasn't. But as far as personalities went, they were two peas in a pod. Both were grad students who felt they would rather live in a dorm and deal with the undergraduates than live in an apartment and deal with the rent and the utilities. Both were working for a graduate degree in philosophy, and neither one had any idea what they planned to do with those degrees, although they were both leaning toward teaching. And though neither one of them was from more than two hours away, they both avoided going home to their families as much as possible.

"No," Hannah answered, laying her head back on the back of the couch and pushing her hair back out of her eyes. "It was the new job. _God_, why did I ever take it?"

"Because the pay was freaking awesome," Erica answered calmly. "I take it the first day went badly?"

"No, it actually went great," Hannah answered, closing her eyes. "I just hate Tolkien, is all."

Erica shook her head, and turned from the monitor to look over at her friend for the first time. "I don't understand why," she said plainly. "Yeah, it's fantasy, and it's completely unrealistic, but it isn't _horrible_."

Hannah looked up at her, cynically amused. "This coming from a girl who avoids fantasy and sci-fi like the plague," she replied.

Erica shrugged. "Yeah. But at least I've read the books once before I decided I didn't like them. And I only dislike 'em 'cause they're not my style, not 'cause they're bad."

"Well, I read them a _lot_ of times before I decided I didn't like 'em," Hannah answered, flopping over to lay on her back. "They're not _my_ style, either."

Erica regarded her for a moment, then shrugged and went back to her email. "Anyway, it's no good complaining about the undergrads. You know we were probably just as bad."

"Yeah, I guess we're the losers who decided to live in the dorm with all the little kids. I'm just old. These young whippersnappers!" Hannah said in her best old lady impression.

Erica chuckled, then closed out of her email. "Come on, Methuselah," she said, getting up and stretching. "Let's go to dinner."

000

Hannah arrived late for work the next day. She had had to stop after class and speak with a professor, and he had gotten off on a tangent. By the time she managed to get away from his long-winded analysis of the Romantic Movement, she was already ten minutes late, and it was a good fifteen-minute walk to the Psych Hospital.

She was hot and flustered as she jogged up the steps into the building. Mark was waiting for her inside the door.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming!" he said after greeting her. They began to head down the hall toward Amondaur's ward, Hannah trying to catch her breath. "I thought maybe the patients had scared you off."

Hannah glanced over at him in surprise, and saw that he was grinning. She pushed her short hair back out of her face and puffed out her cheeks.

"They almost did," she conceded. "But I'm late because one of my profs doesn't know when to stop talking."

They found Amondaur's door open. Glancing inside, Hannah saw that he was sitting in a chair by the window with his back to them, staring out.

"Amondaur?" Hannah said, and he turned back quickly.

In a moment he was out of his chair and crossing to them, smiling all over. "_I thought perhaps you weren't coming!_" he said. "_I'm so glad you're here!_"

"_Did you have any questions for me?_" Hannah asked, taking a seat.

"_Yes, actually, although I mostly just wanted to be able to talk to someone who understood me,_" Amondaur admitted.

"_So what were your questions?_"

Amondaur looked a little taken aback at how she ignored the rest of his statement, but pulled himself together.

"_Aníron istad o ndôr hen—America. Mas sa? A mannen tellin hi?_"

Hannah turned to Mark, who was alternately watching them and writing on a clipboard. "He wants to know more about America—where it is, and how he got here. Should I play along?"

Mark shook his head. "Never play along with a patient's delusions. Tell him the honest truth."

"_Ehh…_" Hannah hemmed, turning back to Amondaur. "_America ne North America, mi ndŷr Canada a Mexico_.**"**

Amondaur looked confused. "_Aviston Ganeda egor Vecsico_," he stated.

"I told him it's in North America, between Canada and Mexico," Hannah translated, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. "He says he's never heard of them."

Mark looked unconcerned. "He's simply playing his part."

"_Which direction are we from Eriador?_" Amondaur asked her suddenly.

"What did he say?"

"He wants to know which direction to Eriador," she said briefly to Mark, before answering Amondaur, "_Eriador is on none of our maps_."

Amondaur frowned at her. "_Perhaps if there are any Elves here, I might ask them what they think_?"

Hannah shook her head. "_There are no elves here._"

Amondaur narrowed his eyes. "_Then how is it you speak Elvish_?"

He thought he had her there, but Hannah replied immediately, "_I learned it from books_."

When Amondaur didn't seem inclined to ask any more questions, Mark began writing on his clipboard again. "Ask him how he thinks he got here."

"_Man gerich o mannen tellich hi_?" she asked Amondaur.

"_I do not know,_" he answered helplessly. "_I was simply walking through the forest, and—it changed, somehow_. _Can you not explain it to me?_"

Hannah fought the urge to roll her eyes. This man had been reading far too much bad fanfiction.

"_I cannot possibly tell you how you came here,_" she told him plainly. "_You are the one who would have the most idea_."

Amondaur looked disappointed, but nodded.

"_Did you have any more questions?_" Hannah asked perfunctorily.

Amondaur thought for a moment. "_Might you tell me about yourself?_"

"_There is really nothing to tell_," she said calmly. "_I am a student_."

"_Do you have any family?_"

"_Yes. My parents_."

"_No siblings?_"

Hannah's face hardened. "_No_," she answered, then stood abruptly. "I think my time is up," she told Mark.

Mark looked at his watch in surprise. "So it is!" He stood, and Amondaur did the same.

"_I must leave. Farewell,_" she told Amondaur, and turned to go.

"_Hanna?_" he said. She turned to look at him. "_I am truly sorry if I have made you angry or uncomfortable in any way. I assure you, I did not mean it._"

Hannah frowned in surprise and confusion. Her reactions had probably made him as uncomfortable, or more so, than he had made her. Most people would be glad to see her go, not stop her and apologize to her… He was playing his role rather well.

"_Sa unad,_" she answered. "_Arad vaer_."

000

"So what's your diagnosis?" Hannah asked Mark as they headed down the hall.

"Schizophrenia. Schizophrenics can have delusions of grandeur and think they are famous historical people."

"I wouldn't call it a delusion of grandeur, exactly," Hannah argued. "If it were that, he would think he was Aragorn!"

Mark grinned. "True." He paused. "Interestingly, he seems to display no other symptoms that I've observed. In fact, you might be able to help me with this." He motioned for her to follow him, and led her to a small office, where he offered her a seat and sat down behind the desk.

"Have you noticed any evidence of hallucinations?" he asked, pulling out some papers and posing his pen over them. "Talking to someone who's not there, mentioning a sight, smell, or feeling that you cannot observe?"

Hannah shook her head. "Nope."

"Paranoia? Delusions of persecution?"

Hannah shook her head again. "No. He didn't even seem to blame the cops who tased him."

"Disorganized thoughts, garbled speech, abrupt stops in thought, made-up words?"

"No. His Sindarin is pretty straightforward. He does use some words I've never heard before, but they perfectly fit the structures of the language and fill in gaps in the vocabulary. He speaks Elvish pretty much as a real ranger probably would speak it."

"Hmm." Mark took note of this. "I see no disorder of movement, no clumsiness, no involuntary facial expressions, no repetitive motions…" He slowly ticked things off on his paper. "No flattening effect, depression, difficulty with planned activity, infrequent speech… He doesn't neglect basic hygiene or need help with everyday living activities—well, at least not after the first few days, when he acted unfamiliar with the technology." He stopped and looked over his sheet. "That's funny—the only symptoms of schizophrenia he's displaying is the obvious delusion of grandeur, and the Sindarin neologisms, and unfamiliarity with technology—all of which go with the role he's acting out."

"Then it might not be schizophrenia?" Hannah wanted to know.

"No, the only mental diseases that we know of that cause delusions of grandeur are schizophrenia and mania, and he's certainly not manic. It's definitely schizophrenia, but it's manifesting itself in a very strange way. We shall have to keep him under careful observation. We are currently trying to find an antipsychotic medication that will work for him."

"How long will it be until you know one works?"

"Well generally, with the correct medication, agitation and hallucination usually improve within a few days. But he doesn't appear to be exhibiting either of those symptoms. The delusions will probably take longer to clear up with the correct medication—a few weeks. So Amondaur may continue with his delusions of grandeur for several months before we manage to pin down an effective treatment."

Hannah nodded. "Well, I've got to get going. Call me if you need me." She headed for the door as Mark nodded absently, still poring over his papers.

"Oh. Hannah?" he said suddenly.

She paused and stuck her head back in the door.

"What should I put down for his last name on the forms?" he asked helplessly, and with a self-deprecating grin.

Hannah was impervious to self-deprecating grins. "His patronymic is _Aradunion_," she answered shortly. "A-R-A-D-U-N-I-O-N." She turned and left as Mark bent over his papers, spelling frantically.

**TBC**

**

* * *

AN: Translations:**

_Aníron istad o ndôr hen-America. Mas sa? A mannen tellin hi?_: I want to know about this country—America. Where is it? And how did I come to be here?

_America ne North America, mi ndŷr Canada a Mexico_: America is in North America, between Canada and Mexico.

_Aviston Ganeda egor Vecsico_: I have never heard of Canada or Mexico. (Some spelling changes reflect Sindarin pronunciation of the two countries. Lenition rules make him change the first letters of the words.)

_Man gerich o mannen tellich hi_: How do you believe you came here?

_Sa unad. Arad vaer_: It is nothing. Good day.

Huge thanks to **dreamingfifi**, who did the Elvish translations for me! Bow before her linguistic magnificence!

For those who are confused about the title: It's part of a quote from _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead_ by Tom Stoppard (I love that play!) Guildenstern is talking to a troupe of actors, and he's mad at them because he says the kind of death they depict on the stage isn't realistic. "GUIL: I'm talking about death—and you've never experienced that. And you cannot act it. You die a thousand casual deaths—with none of that intensity which squeezes out life. . .and no blood runs cold anywhere. Because even as you die you know that you will come back in a different hat. But no one gets up after death—there is no applause—there is only silence and some second-hand clothes, and that's—death." Trust me, it'll make sense in the end. :)

**theycallmemary**: I think if he were an elf, the hospital staff might notice… lol

**Laer4572**: I think if any of the nine had ever ended up in the U.S., Tolkien probably would've mentioned it… :)

**thayzel**: My own Sindarin is pretty shabby; I probably know no more than Mark! Hence going to **dreamingfifi** for help. :)

**Contia Mirian**: Oh, I don't know about that… He's in a mental hospital for running around with weapons claiming to be from Middle-earth. Just sounds like some crazy dude to me!

**Eresse**, **trecebo**, **Redone**, **dreamingfifi**, **Hebir Naid Thurin** (what does that mean, BTW? Something something secret…), **Princess Siara**, **Cindy** (we're _all_ Galadriel wannabes underneath! lol), **IwishChan**, **Tara**, **Hermione at Heart**, **Ravens Destiny**, **Coolio02**, **lds-sunshinegrl**… (Wow, long list): You all rock! Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews!

Let me know how I'm doing! **Please review**!


	3. Chapter 3

The phone rang and Hannah jumped, causing her book to slide off her stomach and onto the floor. It was Sunday afternoon, and she had fallen asleep doing her reading for Eastern Philosophy.

With a groan, Hannah rolled over and grabbed the phone. "Hello?" she rasped, shoving her hair out of her eyes and squinting at the clock. It was 3:26.

"Miss D'Angelo?" a businesslike but urgent voice said.

"Yeah?" Miss D'Angelo croaked sleepily.

"This is Ron Keller. I'm afraid we have a… situation here."

Hannah woke up a little more fully. "What kind of situation?"

"Amondaur appears… agitated. He tried to leave the institution this morning, and was a bit upset when he was prevented. He has since refused to take his medicine. And since he doesn't speak English…" Dr. Keller paused. "Honestly, we don't know _what_ the matter might be."

"Alright," Hannah groaned, rolling out of bed. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you. I'll send Mark to meet you at the door and fill you in," Dr. Keller promised, and hung up.

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Hannah brushed her hair out and pulled her shoes on. Grabbing her purse and her Sindarin dictionary, she headed out of the building and toward Grenville Psychiatric Hospital.

000

By the time she reached the front door, she was feeling much more awake and aware. She hoped Amondaur wasn't having some sort of psychotic episode; she wouldn't know how to deal with it. Besides the fact that it would probably scare her silly.

Mark opened the door for her when he saw her coming. "I'm glad you're here," he said earnestly as they headed off down the hall at a brisk pace. "It was sort of touch-and-go for awhile, when he tried to go out the front doors. He didn't seem to understand why we wouldn't let him go out, and then he got angry when we insisted. Of course, none of us could understand what he was saying, but it sounded awfully accusatory. You'll have to remind him that he is not allowed to leave the hospital, for his own good. Since he's provided no information on family or friends that might come and collect him…" Mark shrugged helplessly. "And since this morning's little episode, he has refused to take his medication." He looked sympathetically at Hannah. "I'm afraid you've got your work cut out for you."

They were now at Amondaur's door. "He also refuses to answer when we knock," Mark told her, knocking perfunctorily and opening the door.

Amondaur was standing at the window with his back to them when they came in, but he wheeled around. When he saw who it was, he advanced on them angrily.

"_Nauthach i im pen-inn?_" he demanded furiously, stalking over to them. Hannah automatically backed up, running into Mark. He put his hand on her arm as if about to pull her out of harm's way, but then the meaning of Amondaur's words struck her. She put her hand up, and Mark stilled his movement.

Amondaur had stopped right in front of them. He was so tall, Hannah felt like she was being addressed by a tree. "_You think I am mad!_" he repeated. "_This is a madhouse! The other people here—they are mad. But I am not! Why have you put me here?_"

He stood before them, seething, waiting for an answer. Hannah stared unblinkingly up at him, her heart racing.

"What did he say?" Mark whispered.

Hannah turned her head slightly to address him, but kept her eyes directed on Amondaur's face. "He is angry because we think he's crazy," she translated. "He apparently just realized this is an insane asylum, and that everybody else here is crazy, but he says he's not."

"Ah," Mark said, understanding.

"_Why would you think I was mad?_" Amondaur repeated.

"_Because Middle-earth does not exist_," Hannah finally replied firmly. "_It is only part of a story, written by a man named John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, fifty years ago. It is not true_."

Amondaur gave a bark of astonished, cynical laughter, and his lips twisted into a sneer. "_Ae han nauthach, le pen-inn_," he said plainly.

"He just called me mad!" Hannah exclaimed in exasperation.

"Here, let's all sit down," Mark said, moving himself and Hannah more fully into the room and gesturing to the chairs. He and Hannah took their seats, but Amondaur remained standing across the room from them, looking quite angry.

"I heard you say Tolkien's name," Mark told Hannah. "What did you say to him?"

"He asked why I would think he was mad, and I said Middle-earth didn't exist, it was only from a story which wasn't true. Then he said if I believed that, _I_ was the crazy one."

Mark nodded, unsurprised. "It is a very common for schizophrenics to believe they are quite well, and don't need their medicine," he told her. "You could try to reason with him, but I doubt you'll be at all successful."

"_He thinks I am mad, too, doesn't he?_" Amondaur asked Hannah coldly.

She didn't answer. "_Amondaur, what happened this morning? They said you tried to leave the institution._"

"_I did,_" he answered, allowing her to change the subject. He crossed his arms. "_It finally dawned on me how many people here appeared to be mad. With some of them you cannot tell as easily, you know._" Hannah nodded. "_I had been out into the courtyard,_" he gestured to the large gardens out the window, "_but I wanted to leave the institution. So I tried to do so._" His expression darkened again. "_The guards stopped me,_" he said, trying to contain his anger in order to speak calmly. "_It was humiliating and infuriating._"

"_I imagine so,_" Hannah replied diplomatically.

She and Amondaur looked at one another for a minute in silence, then Amondaur moved forward and took his accustomed seat on the side of his bed.

"_Those strange little things they want me to swallow—they are medication, are they not?_" he asked.

Hannah nodded.

"_I will not take them. I am not sick._"

"_Amondaur,_" Hannah said patiently, "_Mark tells me that many people who have… the problem they believe you to have, think that they are not sick and refuse to take any medication._" She noticed Amondaur's jaw hardening, and added, "_If you want them to believe you are sane, it would help if you agreed to take your medication._"

Amondaur looked very annoyed and a bit sullen at this pronouncement. "_Very well_," he said. Hannah had half-expected him to roll his eyes.

"He's agreed to take his anti-psychotics," Hannah reported to Mark.

Mark raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Wow. Good job."

"_Let me see this book_," Amondaur suddenly demanded.

"_What?_"

"_You said Middle-earth was just a place in a story. Show me the book this man wrote with the story in it._"

She turned to Mark, completely non-plussed. "He wants to see the book. _Lord of the Rings._"

Mark blinked. "He _does_?"

"Should we show it to him?"

Mark ran his hand through his hair, just as surprised as she was. "Well, I suppose so…" he said hesitantly. "Yes," he concluded after a moment. "I don't see why not. Do you have a copy?"

Hannah shook her head. "No, and I don't know anybody on campus who has a copy."

"There's the public library," he suggested

"That would work."

"I'll drive," Mark volunteered, standing up.

After a moment's hesitation, Hannah followed suit. "_We are going to go find you a copy of the book_," she explained to Amondaur. "_We will return as quickly as possible._"

Amondaur nodded, but did not rise nor bid them goodbye, as he had done the entirety of the previous week. They left his room wordlessly.

000

It wasn't a very long drive to the Grenville Public Library. In less than fifteen minutes, Mark and Hannah were marching up the wide front steps and into the large, classical style, stone building. They followed the signs to the fiction room.

"T… T-A, T-E, T-I, T-O… T-O-L," Hannah whispered to herself as she moved through the stacks. "Here. _Fellowship of the Ring, The Two Towers, Return of the King…_" She pulled the volumes off the shelf one by one. "We should probably take this, too," she added, pulling out the _Silmarillion_.

On the way to the front desk, Hannah made a detour past the non-fiction section and picked up the first book she found with both a U.S. and a world map in it. "Further evidence," she said to Mark before he even asked. "Do you have an atlas in your car?"

"Yeah…?" he answered, still a little puzzled.

"Good. I think it might come in handy."

Luckily, Hannah had a card for the public library: she had had to use do research there before when the college library didn't have what she needed. They quickly checked out the books and got into Mark's car again.

"I've never done something like this before," he admitted to Hannah. "They used to say that you should never challenge a patient's delusions, but opinion is beginning to change on that head. There's this thing called "collaborative empiricism"—the therapist becomes the patient's ally and they work through his delusions, beginning with the least firmly held and working their way up." He broke off. "Well, there's more to it, but that's the basics. But this—I'm not even sure this is a good idea. It might make him resistant to proper therapy later on."

"You think we shouldn't do it?" Hannah asked slowly.

Mark shook his head. "I honestly don't know."

They were both quiet for a moment, thinking. "You said it yourself," Hannah finally reminded him: "the only sign of schizophrenia he's displaying is his delusions of grandeur—if that is indeed what they are. Otherwise, he seems perfectly rational. He recognizes insanity in others, and submits to logical arguments—like that he should take his medication if he wanted to prove he really wasn't insane and just _thinking_ he was fine."

Mark grinned and glanced over at her. "Is _that_ the argument you used?"

Hannah couldn't help a small smile. "Yes. My point is—"

"—Maybe he'll react perfectly rationally to our little intervention," Mark finished for her. "I hope you're right."

"Besides," Hannah added, "_he_ asked to see the books. If anybody asks, we were only fetching him reading materials." She grinned widely at Mark, who laughed in response.

As they pulled into the hospital parking lot, Hannah snapped her fingers. "Where's that atlas?" she asked Mark.

"Under your seat."

Hannah leaned over as far as her seatbelt would allow and rummaged until she located the book. They both looked at one another and took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing," Mark said, opening his door.

000

When they entered the room, Amondaur was sitting where they had left him. Mark and Hannah put the books down on the end of his bed, along with the atlas.

"_There_," said Hannah.

Amondaur picked up one of the books cautiously and opened it. "_I cannot read this,_" he said.

Hannah sat down beside him and took the book—_The Return of the King_. Flipping it open, she suddenly remembered that most of the events in the trilogy wouldn't have happened yet for the character Amondaur was playing. So she opened the book to the appendices.

"_How widely known is the story of Aragorn and Arwen?_" she asked Amondaur.

He looked startled. "…_Some of the Rangers and the Elves of Rivendell know it,_" he said slowly.

"_Do you know it?_"

He shook his head. "_Only the barest of outlines._"

"_Well then, you will learn something today,_" Hannah said ruthlessly, and began to read from the book, translating directly into Elvish.

When she reached the part where Aragorn and Arwen were meeting in Caras Galadon, Amondaur put his hand over the page. "_Stop. Stop!_" Hannah halted and looked up at him.

"_I do not think it is right for me to know this,_" he said self-consciously. "_Such things are very private. It is not right._" Hannah shut the book. "_How did he know all of this?_" Amondaur asked. "_All these private details about their lives?_"

"_Because he made them up,_" Hannah said slowly and distinctly. "_He invented Aragorn and Arwen. They're fictional characters. They don't exist._"

Amondaur was shaking his head emphatically. "_No, they do exist. I have spoken with Aragorn, and seen a glimpse of the Lady Arwen's beauty from afar. Gilraen lived in our village when she left Rivendell, and I have enjoyed Lord Elrond's warm hospitality. No, these people are real._"

Hannah pressed her lips together in a narrow line. Grabbing _The Fellowship of the Ring_, she opened it to the map on the first pages. "_Does this look familiar?_" she asked him.

Amondaur took the book from her and looked at it closely. "_Of course! It is Middle-earth._" he stated.

"_And this?_" she continued, passing him _The Silmarillion_, open to the map of Beleriand.

He took it and scrutinized the map, nodding.

"_Now_," Hannah continued, picking up the atlas. "_Do you see this map?_" she opened it to a map of the area and pointed to it. "_This is the town we are in: Grenville. This is the state park, and the highway where you met the policemen. Now…_" She flipped a little farther to a view that showed the surrounding states. "_Here is Grenville, and the borders of the state._" Leaving him to look at that, she picked up the book on geography and flipped to the U.S. map. "_And the borders of the state, inside America._" Finally she turned to a world map. "_And here is America. This is a map of the entire world. Now. Where is Middle-earth?_"

Amondaur slowly and cautiously took the book from her hands and stared at the world map. "_This cannot be the whole world_," he muttered under his breath. He began frantically to flip through the maps, searching for a familiar feature. "_No, it cannot be,_" he breathed desperately.

Finally his shoulders slumped in defeat, and he shut the book and handed it back to her. He rested his elbows on his knees and put his face in his hands. Silence fell for a moment as he neither spoke nor moved.

Hannah watched him with concern. She had not expected him to be that easy to convince. But then, perhaps this was part of the role he was playing—a Ranger of Middle-earth sent to modern Earth by magic.

After a long, still silence, Amondaur passed his hands over his face and rested his mouth on his fist. He looked like he was about to cry. Hannah quickly stood up and began to stack up the books. She couldn't stand to see men cry.

A few desperately whispered words made her look over at him again. "_Perhaps I really am mad,_" he said to himself. "_I must be dreaming, or hallucinating… This cannot possibly be true._"

Mark touched Hannah's shoulder, causing her to jump. She had completely forgotten he was even in the room. "What's happening?" he asked her quietly.

Hannah looked back at Amondaur, who did not even appear aware of their presence, wrapped up in his own thoughts. "I think I've convinced him he's not in Kansas anymore," Hannah answered quietly.

**TBC**

**

* * *

AN:**

**Translations:**

_Nauthach i im pen-inn?_: You think I am mad, don't you?

_Ae han nauthach, le pen-inn_: If that is what you believe, then you are the one who is mad.

**dreamingfifi **says: "There isn't a word for insane in Sindarin, but here is where the joys of neo-Sindarin come in. I used 'devoid of inner thought or meaning' in the place of 'crazy'." Once again, kudos and many thanks to our knowledgeable translator!

I feel honor-bound to point out: I am definitely _not_ suggesting you go out and tell people who have a mental illness that "it's all in their head". This is fiction. In reality, I think Mark probably could have lost his job for that move. I am most certainly _not_ an expert in psychiatry, and am not suggesting this course of action to my readers. Mental illness is a real and serious problem. Please leave it to the experts. Thank you. :)

**geek-chick**: Thanks! And nice sn, btw. :)

**theycallmemary**: Aw, tell the truth now. You'd think he was as nutty as a fruitcake. :) The medical gibberish wasn't difficult; I just googled "schizophrenia symptoms"! It's quite easy to find information on such things online. He probably tried speaking Westron, but since Tolkein left veeeery little of that language to us, there's no way anybody would recognize it. Being a Dúnadan, he does indeed know Sindarin, so he tried that, and Mark happened to recognize it. Thanks!

**Faerlas**: I think the mental hospital staff would notice if he had pointy ears. :)

**Hermione at Heart**: Yeah, it is sad. I loved reading your guess! But there's no way I'm telling you if you're right. :)

**Cindy**: It scares me you know the stats on that. lol Sorry, afraid none of this is going to be Boromir-centric. I hope you'll still like it anyway! As for your other questions, you'll just have to wait and see. :)

**Princess Siara**: Yes, I've caught myself typing "Katie" for "Hannah" a couple of times, now! _That_ would be embarrassing. Like the "Larry" slip in Galathon's Robe… Although come to think of it, that one was just kind of funny. :) Yep, lost patience big-time. Well, he's either from ME, or he's totally wacked! You'll just have to wait to find out which. :)

**Fk306**: Nothing if not predictable! lol Thanks!

**Mariko**: Yes, he is; and the answer to the next question is obviously, Not very long. Lol Yeah, I thought the "Hannah hates Tolkien" would spice it up a bit. :) Thanks!

**sweet as lemonz**: You'll just have to wait and find out!

Thanks also to **trecebo**, **Tara**, **Laer4572**, **Alexis in Wonderland**, **Bigglesworth**, **IwishChan**, **Coolio02**, **Spewilicious**, **Crecy**, and **Ravens Destiny**! (I would thank you, **Will77**, but I'm pretty sure that even after an email, there's no way you'll be back to read it…)

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I'm very gratified that everyone's taken the time to write!

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

Hannah went to the hospital at her usual time the next afternoon and made her way down the corridors to Amondaur's room. Mark met her outside his door.

"How is he today?" she asked, concerned.

Mark shook his head. "Hard to say, really. He is certainly not as agitated as he was before, but I'm worried about him. He hasn't eaten as much as usual since yesterday afternoon. Depression is often a symptom of schizophrenia, but I think this may be brought on by the discussion we had with him yesterday." He paused. "I'm beginning to think that was a very bad idea."

Hannah nodded in silent agreement. She had been worried about the same thing ever since she had taken leave of Amondaur the day before. "Is he still angry?"

"No, quite the opposite," Mark said emphatically. "He—well, you can see for yourself," he said, gesturing to the door.

Hannah knocked, and Amondaur called, "Come in."

She opened the door a crack and peeked her head in. When Amondaur looked up and saw her, he smiled and rose to greet her. "Come in, come in!" he repeated. Hannah stepped in the door, with Mark close behind her.

Amondaur approached her more slowly than he had the day before, a sad, gentle smile on his face. He took her hand in both of his own. "_I am truly sorry for my conduct yesterday. Please forgive me my discourteous words!_"

Hannah tried to cover over her surprise. "_Oh, no, it is fine._"

"_Say you will forgive me?_"

"_Of course,_" Hannah assured him, guilt gnawing at her insides. "_You conduct was completely understandable. In truth, there is nothing to forgive._"

"_You are very gracious_," Amondaur said gratefully, leading her to her accustomed chair. Hannah exchanged pained glances with Mark as he took his seat. If this was the kind of treatment Amondaur had been giving Mark all day, it was no wonder the guy felt guilty!

"I feel like we martyred him," she murmured, and Mark nodded emphatically. Hannah took the initiative and turned to Amondaur.

"_Mark and I feel we should apologize too, Amondaur,_" she said sincerely. "_Our conduct was—very unsympathetic. We understand that you are confused, and we should have behaved more kindly toward you._"

Amondaur was shaking his head emphatically. "_No, no, you only wanted for me to see the truth. You think me unwell or deceiving myself. You thought only to help me._" Hannah wanted to sink into her chair and disappear.

Amondaur put his forehead in his hand. "_But I am quite… quite overthrown by this. Am I mad, or no? I do not know. And it is no wonder you think I am, for if I am not, what has happened to me is a wonder most people would not credit. I do not understand it._" He turned and looked her straight in the eye. "_But I swear to you, I am not simply deceiving myself or attempting to deceive others._"

Hannah nodded. "_I believe you,_" she said, and realized it was true.

000

"He really does have me stumped," Mark commented as they left Amondaur's room. "The fact that he has this one schizophrenic symptom with no others… I started doing some research, and I found that his symptoms are almost similar to those of grandiose delusional disorder. People with delusional disorder have no other symptoms of mental illness except for a non-bizarre delusion."

"Do you think that's what he has?" Hannah asked, interested.

Mark shook his head. "No. The delusion must be non-bizarre—something that is possible in everyday life, like being cheated on by a spouse, or somebody trying to poison you. Believing you're a ranger from Middle-earth definitely does _not_ fall into that category. It's a grandiose delusion, but a bizarre one."

"I still don't think it could be called a 'delusion of grandeur'," Hannah argued.

"You said Amondaur claimed to have spoken with Aragorn and lived in the same village as Gilraen, correct?" Mark asked.

"Yeah?"

"Grandiose delusions can include things like believing you're connected to some famous person, rather than thinking you're the famous person yourself. A non-bizarre delusion of that sort is believing that you're a first cousin to Elvis, or best friends with Johnny Depp."

"But not a kinsman of Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Hannah concluded.

"No." Mark shook his head. "He simply has me stumped. Of course," he added, turning to look at Hannah, "it could be that he's just a really excellent actor."

"You mean that he's putting it on for attention?" Hannah asked. "Like that college student a year ago who faked her own kidnapping?"

"Yeah, something like that."

Hannah shook her head emphatically. "No, I don't think that's it. Whatever it is, he's not putting it on. He really and truly believes he's from Middle-earth."

Mark narrowed his eyes and smiled a little. "You feel sorry for him, don't you?"

Hannah took a deep breath and let it out. "Yes, I do." Mark smiled a little wider. "And don't laugh! Is it so impossible that I could feel sorry for a mentally ill individual?"

Mark sobered a bit. "No, it's certainly not impossible. But you were so resistant to everything involving Amondaur last week."

"I was uncomfortable," Hannah admitted. "I don't know how to deal with mentally ill people." She glanced around as she said it, making sure there were none in the vicinity to overhear.

Mark nodded. "Very understandable. Not everybody is cut out for a job in a psychiatric hospital. But Amondaur doesn't scare you, does he?"

"Oh, no! Not in the least. Even yesterday when he was so angry, I knew he wouldn't hurt me. He seems quite stable."

"But you never know. And he's very strong, physically," Mark reminded her.

"No, it's no good. I'll never be afraid of Amondaur until I actually see him become unstable," Hannah said firmly.

They were approaching the door, now. Hannah expected Mark to say his usual goodbye, but instead he stated, "There's something else about this job that bothers you."

Hannah stopped and looked up at him, startled. "No, there isn't," she answered a little too quickly.

Mark stopped and regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. "Why do you dislike Tolkien so much, if you once loved his work enough learn fluent Elvish?"

Hannah set her lips in a thin line. "I just don't like fantasy literature anymore," she said, her voice a little too hard. "It has very little bearing on reality, as Amondaur's condition demonstrates." She turned and pushed through the door. "See you tomorrow," she tossed would-be casually over her shoulder as she left the building.

Mark stood and watched her head down the sidewalk, a thoughtful frown on his face.

000

"What's the matter?" Erica asked Hannah, biting into her cheeseburger. It was Wednesday night, and they were sitting in the campus coffeehouse, having a late night snack.

Hannah shook herself and reached for a fry. "Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about Amondaur." She dipped the French fry in her little paper cup of ketchup, observed it vaguely, and dipped it again. "I just feel really bad for him. It must be hard, ending up in another world."

"Oh, for God's sake!" Erica exclaimed with a laugh, grabbing Hannah's hand and pulling her fry out of the ketchup. "_Eat_ it." When her roommate laughed and complied, she continued, "You're beginning to sound like you actually believe he's from Middle-earth!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Hannah scoffed, shoving the rest of her fry in her mouth and carefully picking up her cheeseburger. "_I _don't believe it. But he does. And that means it's real to him."

Erica shrugged and nodded. "I guess so," she said around a bite of burger. She swallowed, and unscrewed the cap of her Pepsi.

They were quiet for a few moments as Erica took a swig of soda and Hannah poured some more ketchup on her sandwich.

"So. This Mark guy," Erica started, leaning back in her chair and putting her feet up on the empty chair next to her.

When she didn't say anymore, Hannah said, "Yeah?"

Erica raised her eyebrows. "You're working with him every day."

"So?"

"So what's he like?"

Hannah shrugged. "He's a guy!" she exclaimed vaguely.

Erica laughed, pulling her feet off the chair and leaning in. "Come on, spill." When Hannah didn't answer, she teased, "Is he cute?"

Hannah couldn't help smiling, and kind of tipped her head back and forth. "Yeah, kinda," she admitted slowly. "In a very intelligent-grad-student kind of way," she added by way of qualification.

Erica grinned at that. "So… Do you like him?"

"Oh, God." Hannah rolled her eyes and laughed. "I barely know him."

"You've worked with him every afternoon for a week and half."

"That doesn't constitute knowing him."

"Hmph," Erica said, sitting back in her chair again.

"He's into Tolkien," Hannah said, making a face.

"So were you, at one time."

"Yeah, but that was like, years ago. I've grown past it."

Erica threw her hands in the air. "Tolkien is not a _stage_; he is an _interest_. Aw, shit," she added, as she dropped a ketchupy French fry on her shirt. Hannah handed her a napkin. "Thanks. Anyway, just let me know if there are any developments!"

"You will be the first to know," Hannah promised. "But I'd just like to say, I find it very unlikely."

Erica, mopping at her t-shirt with the napkin, just snorted.

000

"Tree," Hannah said, pointing to a weeping cherry.

"_Trî_," Amondaur repeated.

"_More than one?_"

"_Trîs_."

Hannah pointed to a number of objects, and Amondaur named them: "_Gras,_

_flauer, wal, windo, dôr_."

"Good! _Mae_!" Hannah said with a smile. Amondaur smiled back.

Mark and Hannah had embarked upon a program of teaching Amondaur about the world he was in and how to get about in it.

"It's possible he might be capable of being reintroduced to society," Mark had told Hannah. "If taught to react properly to the world given his delusion, he could make a functioning member of society. His delusion doesn't actually interfere with his learning about 'our world'. And that surprises me."

"Nobody's observed any other symptoms of schizophrenia in him?" Hannah asked.

"None." Mark shook his head. "It's a mystery."

"I take it his medication hasn't taken effect yet," Hannah observed.

"No; it's too early to tell if it will be effective. It can take years to find a medication that works best for the individual patient."

Hannah didn't tell Mark, but she hoped to have taught Amondaur about the world and have him speaking fluent English by then. She didn't intend to hold this job for any longer than she absolutely had to.

So now she and Amondaur were in the courtyard, having an English lesson. Hannah was impressed by how fast Amondaur was "learning" English. It frustrated her to think that he really probably had known English at some point, but now due to his delusion, thought he didn't. It made it seem like a lot of unnecessary work. But Amondaur's belief in his delusion was so genuine, it made the actual experience seem very real—it really were as if she were teaching someone English as a second language.

"_What country is this?_" she quizzed him as they strolled down the paths of the courtyard.

"_Dhe Iunaited Stets uf America_," Amondaur pronounced carefully.

"_Mae. And who is the king_?"

"_Gorgs Bess_."

"_And what is he called?_"

"_Dhe President_."

"_Mae_," Hannah said, quite satisfied.

They took a seat on one of the benches. After a contented silence in which they looked their fill at the well-kept gardens, Amondaur turned to Hannah.

"_I know little about you and Mark,_" he observed. "_And yet, you are my only two friends here!_ _Tell me about yourself. What do you do for a living?_"

Two weeks ago, Hannah would have brushed off the question, but Amondaur's statement that she and Mark were his only friends tugged at her heartstrings. She answered, "_I am a student, and so is Mark. I earn money by coming here and helping you_."

"_Oh, the institute pays you?_"

"_Yes._"

"_So you are from this village?_"

"_No, actually, I'm not. It takes me about three hours to drive here. Speaking of which_," she added, turning to face him squarely, "_I am going home to visit my family this weekend. So I will not be able to see you on Saturday._"

Amondaur nodded. "_I hope you have a good time!_"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

They grinned at one another over his triumph with the language. "_Is there a particular reason you are going home this weekend?_" Amondaur asked.

"_It is my mother's birthday on Monday,_" Hannah answered. "_We are going to eat at a restaurant._"

"What is that?" Amondaur used one of the phrases Hannah had taught him.

"_It is a place where they cook food for you—sort of like at an inn, except that meals are all they do; one does not stay there._"

Amondaur nodded in understanding and they were quiet for a minute. Hannah glanced over at Amondaur. He had a sad, faraway look on his face.

"_What are you thinking about?_" Hannah asked quietly.

"_My family_," Amondaur answered sadly. "_My parents, my brothers…_"

Hannah swallowed. Her throat had suddenly become tight.

"_I hope they are safe. They must be terribly worried by now_."

The silence stretched out between them until Hannah couldn't stand it anymore, and stood up. "_Well, shall we get on with the English lesson_?"

**TBC**

**

* * *

AN:** Once again, huge thanks to dreamingfifi for the Sindarin pronunciations of English words! 

I'm sorry it took me so long to update! But I had to write 32 pages for my Arthurian lit class, and I was working on the other fic… Yeah. Insanity. :)

**Faerlas:** Oh yes, I've heard that theory. Because Tolkien never actually talked about them having pointy ears in his works. But he said in one of the etymologies that Elves' ears were more "pointed and leaf-shaped" than humans'. So it's a good guess they were pointy.

**Laer4572**: Well she _does_ feel sorry for him, on some level.

**Hermione at Heart**: lol I'm glad you like it! Yes, most of my readers don't seem to be thinking about the fact that he really _could_ be actually insane…

**Spewilicious**: I got the psychology stuff from Googling "delusions of grandeur" and "schizophrenia", etc. Yay for Google! It's _decently_ well-researched. Close enough for government work, as my dad would say. :) Thanks!

**voided**: I think it was and I think I did have a good time, but it's been so long ago, I don't actually remember! Whoops…

**theycallmemary**: Well, I can't tell you just yet why she hates Tolkien. :) Yeah, _I'd_ like to believe he's from Middle-earth, but Hannah wouldn't. Well, she's teaching him English, but she's obviously not thinking of adopting him! He's not actually related to anyone famous (other than he's a Dúnadan). Thanks!

**sumdumgai**: Thanks! Yep, I'm majoring in English secondary education.

**FreeDaChickens**: Yeah, it kinda is a personal grudge. You'll just have to wait to find out why!

Thanks also to **IwishChan, sweet as lemonz, geek-chick, Crecy, trecebo, Ravens Destiny**, and **kitza**. You all rock! I would love to write back to each and every one of you, but unfortunately, I simply don't have the time!

**Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

Hannah enjoyed the drive home that weekend, as she always did. It was relaxing to drive straight down the highway with some of her favorite music playing, trees and fields flashing by the car on both sides.

The drive took her about two hours, and she was home by noon on Saturday, pulling up in front of her parents' two-storey brick house. Her parents greeted her almost ecstatically, and she couldn't help but smile as she gave them each a hug.

"We're going out to Appleby's tonight for the dinner," her father said, pulling his daughter's suitcase out of the trunk and carrying it into the house for her, despite her protests. Setting it down on the bed in Hannah's old room, he turned to her and pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose with a characteristic gesture. "Then tomorrow we thought we'd go to church as a family."

Hannah fought to hide a grimace. "Sounds good. Appleby's, huh?" she asked, changing the subject quickly. "Mom's choice, I presume." Appleby's was her mother's favorite restaurant.

"Of course!" her father answered as he led her back into the living room. Hannah's mother came out of the kitchen with a tray of cookies and iced tea, and Mr. D'Angelo gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Mrs. D'Angelo plied her daughter and husband with the snack, and then they asked Hannah all about how she was doing at college. Hannah answered truthfully that she felt a bit swamped with work sometimes, especially now that she had taken on a new job.

"Ah yes, you mentioned something about that in one of your emails," her mother remembered. "Where are you working?"

Hannah mentally kicked herself for bringing up the topic. "I'm, uh… working at Grenville Psychiatric Hospital," she said hesitantly.

Mrs. D'Angelo raised her eyebrows in shock, but Mr. D'Angelo laughed. "What are you doing there? Working in the cafeteria?"

Hannah shot him an amused but defiant look. "Nooo, I'm a translator."

"A translator? Do they have an Italian patient?" her mother asked, referring to the language Hannah had taken in school.

"No; Elvish, actually," Hannah said, keeping her tone very casual. Answering their puzzled glances, she explained, "They've got somebody there who thinks he's from Middle-earth and speaks only Westron and Sindarin. So they hired me as a Sindarin translator. It pays really well."

"Well that's nice," her mother said tactfully, trying to sound as casual as her daughter. "I thought you weren't interested in Tolkien anymore."

"I'm not, but I figured I could use the cash," Hannah said off-handedly, picking up another cookie and concentrating on it. "Oh, by the way," she said, looking up again with a smile: "Happy birthday, Mom!"

000

The delicious dinner at Appleby's that evening culminated in the waiters bringing out a cake and singing "Happy Birthday" to Mrs. D'Angelo.

"Speech! Speech!" her husband demanded when they had finished, and Hannah and her mother laughed.

Mrs. D'Angelo cleared her throat portentously. "Thank you both for this delicious dinner. Thank you, Brian, for putting up with me all of these years," (Mr. D'Angelo smiled affectionately at her) "and thank you Hannah, for coming down from college for the occasion." She paused, and when she spoke again, it was in a faltering and tear-chocked voice. The smiled faded from Hannah's face, although her mother smiled through her tears. "And I thank God for all He has blessed me with, and for allowing me another year to spend with my loved ones."

Hannah and her father both leaned over and hugged Mrs. D'Angelo tightly. In a moment, she wiped away her tears and grinned. "Well, shall we cut the cake?"

She and her husband were soon laughing and chatting animatedly again, but Hannah had grown quiet, and said little the rest of the way through dinner.

000

She went to church with her parents the next morning, but left immediately after the service.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay for Sunday school?" her father asked as she took leave of her parents in the fellowship hall. "I'm sure your old class would love to see you again."

But Hannah shook her head. "I've got to get back and do some homework," she explained. "Bye Mom, happy birthday; bye Dad; love you!"

"We love you too, Honey," her mother said, giving her a hug and a kiss, and her husband followed suit.

"Drive safe," he added, and Hannah nodded.

"Always."

000

The next week passed in a blur. It was midterms, and it seemed to Hannah that every instant she wasn't at the psychiatric hospital, she spent studying. Between boning up on the minutiae of Thervada Buddhism and doing a quick refresher on Plato's _Republic_, she felt completely worn out by Saturday. Consequently, Amondaur's daily English lesson was a bit choppier than usual, as Hannah kept breaking off and staring into space.

"_Are you well?_" Amondaur asked her in slight concern after this had happened for the fourth time.

"_Oh, I'm fine_." Hannah suddenly realized how very little attention she had been paying to Amondaur that day, and she felt a stab of guilt. The poor guy was deluded into believing that he couldn't understand any language but Sindarin, and she was the only person he knew who spoke that language. She was his one true outlet and source of communication, and here she was ignoring him.

"Amondaur," she said suddenly, "_how would you like to get out of the institution?_"

Amondaur frowned at her, confused. "I can't," he pronounced carefully.

"_I do not mean permanently. I believe they would allow you to leave the institution for a few hours under supervision. Would you like to get out next weekend? I do not have classes on Saturday, so we would have plenty of time._"

Amondaur's eyes lit up. "_Truly?_" he asked her.

"_Truly._"

His face split into a grin. "_I would _love _that._ Thank you!"

000

Hannah checked with Mark to make sure that her scheme was plausible.

Mark nodded, surprised. "Yes, you could do that. I'm sure Amondaur'd love the idea."

"He already does," she agreed. "Downtown might overwhelm him a bit, but I think he'd like the park."

"I'm sure he would," Mark said, then smiled at her. "This is a really kind thing for you to do."

Hannah waved it off. "I've been really ratty to the poor guy sometimes; I felt kinda bad for him."

Mark laughed.

000

Amondaur was very excited about their projected trip, and when Mark met Hannah in the hallway on Saturday, he was grinning.

"He's been up and dressed since six this morning," he told her. "He's as excited as a kid about to go see a Harry Potter movie."

Hannah laughed. "Well, I won't keep him waiting, then!"

Amondaur put down the magazine he had been flipping through and sprang up from his seat as soon as Hannah appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a sweater, as it was mid-fall and a bit chilly out. Hannah was once more impressed by how normal he looked in regular clothing.

"_Are you ready to go?_" she asked, and Amondaur nodded emphatically.

Hannah signed him out as Mark had shown her, and she and Amondaur walked out of the building. She walked down the steps and noticed that Amondaur had not followed her.

He stood at the top of the steps, a look of bliss on his face, taking deep breaths of the outside air. It was the first he had been out of the institution since he had been admitted before. He finally looked down at her and smiled.

"Thank you, Hannah," he repeated. He came down the steps and offered her his arm, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "_Shall we?_"

The cars on the road made Amondaur a little nervous, and Hannah kept up a steady stream of quiet explanation as they strolled down the sidewalk.

"_You see, they do not drive off of the road. They have stopped for the red light; they will not strike one another… Ah, and here is the park._"

They stepped in the gates and made their way down the curving, paved paths until the sounds of the traffic were only a ghost of noise in the distance. Amondaur relaxed once more, and began to look around with curiosity.

If there was one thing Hannah could say for Grenville, it had a fantastic park. Evergreens were planted close together all about the perimeter to shut out the sights of the city, and neat, paved walks curled about through lawns of smooth grass and well-tended flower-beds. Gazebos and tiny classical-style buildings could be seen, half hidden by trees, some distance off the paths.

Amondaur became quite animated, keeping up a steady flow of conversation and admiring the park. He seemed very taken with it.

"_There is nothing like this where I am from,_" he admitted. "_They do not even have such a thing in Gondor. Only the Elves might make such a park!_"

Hannah felt a bit of surprise when she found that she was really enjoying herself. She had only taken a walk through this park once before, and it was fun to show the whole thing to Amondaur, who saw it all through such different eyes.

In the center of the park, they came to the tower that housed the bell carillon. It was a round tower with a set of stairs inside that curved up and to the left, running counter-clockwise as they ascended the tower. Hannah and Amondaur stopped to look at it, and Hannah realized in the sudden silence that Amondaur was scrutinizing it carefully.

"_What is the purpose of this tower?_" he asked her.

"_There are bells in the top that are used to play some beautiful music,_" Hannah explained. "_Why do you ask?_"

"_Because it was certainly not built for defense._"

"_Aren't the walls thick enough?_"

"_Oh no, the construction is sturdy enough. It is the stairs._"

"_The stairs?_"

"_They are built the wrong way around, you see._" He sprang up a few steps and turned back to her to demonstrate. "_When one defends a tower, one would be fighting whilst coming down the steps from above. Most fighters are right-handed. So, if I have my sword in this hand, my swing is impaired by the curve of the inner wall._" He demonstrated, showing how his sword would be impaired by the stone wall. "_While the invaders, meanwhile_" (he turned with his back to her, demonstrating the part of the attacker climbing the stairs) "_would have free range by the curve of the outer wall._" He made a swing with his fake sword, parried his invisible adversary, then performed an almighty sweep which Hannah could readily imagine chopping off a defender's head. "_You see? Towers built for defense have stairs curving up and to the _right_, not the left._"

Hannah nodded. She did see, and she was impressed at his knowledge.

They soon left the tower and by degrees found themselves on the broad main walk of the park. Amondaur stopped to stare at a passing bicyclist. Hannah began making mental plans to take him to a nearby restaurant for lunch. A high school-aged girl approached riding a horse, probably come from the nearby equestrian school. She nodded to Amondaur, who bowed gracefully. Hannah smiled a little, wondering if she should curtsey.

It all happened in a flash. Just as the horsewoman reached them, a startled bird made a noisy takeoff from a bush just beside the path. The horse started, whinnied, and began to rear. The girl looked terrified.

In the blink of an eye, Amondaur had taken two long strides over and caught the horse's bridle, preventing it from throwing its rider. He made a soothing sound in his throat and caught the horse's head, murmuring something tranquil to it and stroking it with a quieting motion. In a few moments the horse was relatively calm again, and Amondaur backed away from it respectfully.

"Wow," the girl said, greatly surprised. "That was really impressive. Thank you! You have a real way with horses."

"You're welcome," Amondaur answered with a bow, having caught the familiar words _Thank you_.

"How long have you worked with horses?" the girl asked him.

He looked at Hannah for clarification. Hannah told the girl, "He doesn't speak much English."

"Oh. Well, he must have worked with horses for a long time—even my instructor can't calm Achilles like that! Thank you again!" The girl rode on with a backward glance and a grateful goodbye, and Amondaur turned back to Hannah.

"_She should ride a less flighty horse until she has gained a bit more skill in the saddle,_" he said judiciously, then paused. Hannah was staring at him. "_What is it?_"

"_She was right; you do have a way with horses. How long have you worked with them?_"

"_Oh, all of my life,_" he said, equally surprised. "_My father taught me to ride almost as soon as he taught me to walk!_" He laughed, but stopped when he saw that she was in earnest. "_Do people here not work with horses so early?_"

"_Most people never work with horses at _all" Hannah answered. They looked at one another in silence for a long moment, and then Hannah shook herself. "_It is time for luncheon_," she said, walking on. "_Why don't we get something to eat?_"

000

Amondaur greatly enjoyed his day out. After they left the park, Hannah took him to lunch at a restaurant, and then to the public library and a couple of small shops. Amondaur was intrigued by it all.

It was dark out by the time they walked back to the institution, and Amondaur appeared enchanted by all the lights.

"_No one lit those lamps,_" he observed, indicating the streetlamps.

"_There is a small device that sees how much light there is out, and when it gets dark, the device lights the lamps,_" Hannah explained.

Amondaur nodded, unsurprised. "_There are many amazing things here,_" he said. "_I wonder if they have such devices in Aman? Perhaps the Deep Elves and the Valar might craft such things._"

Hannah smiled, and bit back a reply. _I doubt it,_ she thought.

They were walking calmly down the sidewalk, Hannah with her hand on Amondaur's arm. He had continued to offer her his elbow every time they stepped out of a building and onto the street. Hannah noticed that further, he had generally positioned himself so that he was walking closer to the street, and she to the shops. He was happiest when walking on the left sidewalk, so that he could offer her his left arm, and she would be in the "safer" position. Hannah remembered reading somewhere that gentlemen had done such things in the Victorian period and earlier in England, so that the lady the gentleman was escorting would always be protected. Offering her his left arm meant that Amondaur's right arm was free to reach for his sword. He obviously was not wearing it now, but he was accustomed to having it when he went out. Once when a car horn had blared and startled him, his right hand had reflexively gone to his left side, where the sword hilt would have been.

Hannah shook her head. Was that kind of reaction possible in a man who was only crazy and _thought_ he generally carried a sword? She supposed it must be. But it was hard to believe.

Startled at her own thoughts, Hannah shook her head. Was she actually starting to believe that Amondaur was a Ranger of the North? It was ridiculous, almost laughable. Hannah smiled at her own risible thoughts.

"_What is it?_" Amondaur asked with a smile, having seen her expression.

"_Oh, nothing. Look, there is the institution,_" she answered.

"_I almost hate to go inside!_" he said jovially as they mounted the steps, but Hannah knew he was serious.

She walked with him back to his room, and he paused at the door.

"_I want to thank you for taking me out today,_" he said solemnly. "_It has been a wonderful day, and it has meant a great deal to me_. Thank you."

"_Not at all,_" Hannah said, smiling warmly at him. With an answering smile he kissed her knuckles, then slipped into his room.

"Hannah!" Mark called from down the hall as she was leaving. She stopped and waited for him. "How did it go?" he asked when he had caught up with her.

"It was great," she answered. "We both had a good time."

Mark smiled. "Good. Did you have any problems?"

"None whatsoever. He was a little startled by some things, but that was all."

Mark nodded abstractedly. "I'd like to discuss it in more detail with you, but I don't have time just at the moment. How would you like to have a talk over dinner some night this week?" Hannah blinked at him, and Mark grinned at her surprise. "I'll buy!" he said temptingly. "You surely can't pass up a chance to get some real non-dining hall food for free!"

Hannah laughed. "You win. How's Tuesday night?"

"No good. I've got night shift. Wednesday?"

"Wednesday works for me," Hannah agreed.

"Great. I'll pick you up at the front gates of the college at six?" Someone down the hall called his name. "In a moment!" he called back, and turned to Hannah for confirmation.

She nodded. "That's fine."

"Okay. See you Monday!" He turned and headed for the source of the trouble. Hannah stood watching him for a moment, then shook her head with a funny half-smile.

**TBC**

**

* * *

AN:** A little shorter than usual, but ah well. :) 

From now on, I'll be replying to reviews with the reply feature ff dot net just put in. I'll only include the answers to those I can't reply to through the site. Issues and questions brought up in reviews that I think everybody should hear the answers to will also go in the Author's Notes. I wish I could still put up everybody's answers on the chapter, but I don't want to make ff dot net mad.

**Erasuithiel**: Yeah, I feel bad for the poor guy. And as for reverse fics, you see them, but they're usually the screaming-fangirl-finds-Legolas-running-around-takes-him-home-falls-in-love-with-him fluffy stuff. :)

**Cindy**: I'm flattered! It's a bit unusual to find a Boromir fangirl, but he def deserves it—particularly bookverse Boromir.

**Jaffee Leeds**: lol Tell the truth, I don't like her either! I figure it's a good sign—my characters aren't just all little copies of me with different hair colors anymore!. :)

Thank you all for reviewing and being so patient for updates! Love you all! **Please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

Hannah slowly shifted from one foot to the other and scanned the traffic for a car—any car—turning in to the college. It was Wednesday night, and she was beginning to worry that Mark had forgotten their appointment.

Not that it would be a huge deal if he had, Hannah reminded herself. She could just wait here awhile, and if he didn't show up, she would turn around and walk back to Preston Dining Hall and have dinner there. Why did she care about this little meeting so much?

She was curious, she admitted to herself. The things that had happened in the park four days before had begun to instill doubts in her mind. Not that she wanted to admit that Amondaur might actually be telling the truth. What reasonable person would believe that he had literally come from another world—and a world invented by a twentieth century fantasy author, no less? But if he wasn't crazy and wasn't lying… As Sherlock Holmes had once said, "When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains—however improbable—must be the truth."

Hannah wanted to get to the bottom of this mystery. Nothing that Amondaur had said or done in the past three days had helped her in the least. She began seeing his every move through two lenses. On one side she was a skeptic—"He's insane, he actually believes this himself, and he's researched his role very well," she told herself. But the entire time, a little voice in the back of her mind kept saying, "What if he's not insane and he's telling the truth? Then all the little pieces would fall into place and it would all make sense!" No, the question was driving her crazy, and she hoped that talking it out with Mark would help her sort it all out.

That was obviously _not_ how Erica had seen their plans for this evening.

"You've got a date with Mark!" she hooted.

"I do not!" Hannah declared, throwing her jacket over her desk chair. "He wants to discuss Amondaur's condition."

"Oh, that's what he _said_," Erica answered mischievously, tapping the side of her nose with her finger like Santa Claus in the old poem. "But you and I both know that was just a ploy to get you to have dinner with him!"

Hannah tried to be mad, but ended up laughing. "It's just a chance for us to discuss work. That's _all_."

"Uh-huh. _Sure _it is," Erica said innocently as she turned back to her computer.

Erica was wrong, though. Hannah saw this meeting as purely informational, not romantic. And for that very reason, she hoped Mark hadn't stood her up. Today was his day off, so she hadn't seen him at the psychiatric hospital to remind him.

Hannah checked her watch again. 6:10. Maybe his clock was off?

She started when a car pulled up to the curb in front of her. Mark waved from the driver's seat. With a grin she couldn't suppress, Hannah walked around and got in.

"Where would you like to eat?" Mark asked as he pulled away and Grenville College disappeared in the rearview mirror.

"Oh, anywhere's better than the dining hall!" Hannah said casually.

"How about Hollands?"

"Sounds great."

Hollands was a locally owned restaurant with a very cozy atmosphere—it would be perfect for sitting and having a private chat. And besides, their onion flowers were fantastic.

Hannah and Mark exchanged basic pleasantries until the waitress had brought them their drinks and gone away with their orders.

"So," Mark said, leaning forward on his elbows, "tell me all about this outing."

Hannah described her entire journey with Amondaur through downtown Grenville—Amondaur's way of automatically offering her his arm, his reactions to traffic, his obvious pleasure at the sight of the park. She described in detail their conversation about how to defend towers and how Amondaur had helped the girl with her horse. Finally, she told how he had automatically gone for his absent sword hilt when startled. When she finished this recital, she sat back and watched Mark for his reaction.

Mark looked thoughtful. He absently stirred the ice in his Pepsi with his straw in silence.

"Well?" Hannah finally asked when he didn't seem to be about to speak. "What do you think?"

"What do I think of what?" Mark asked.

"Amondaur's behavior," Hannah said.

Mark gathered his thoughts. "I think we're going to have to change his diagnosis. Maybe he really could be classified as having delusional disorder."

Hannah leaned back and suppressed a sigh. That hadn't been the answer she was looking for, but then, what exactly had she expected?

"If he trained with horses since childhood… Perhaps lived in some backwater where he learned a lot of wilderness skills quite young…" Mark was thinking out loud. "But no, then he'd claim to be some mountain man or something. Not from another dimension."

The waitress brought their food, and they returned to more casual topics for a few minutes. The onion flower really was delicious, but Hannah had lost her enthusiasm for it.

"So. Philosophy," Mark said, dipping a piece of onion in the sauce.

"What?"

"You said you were majoring in philosophy," Mark reminded her.

"Oh. Yeah."

"How did you get interested in that?" he wanted to know.

"Well, I took this world religions class as an undergrad, and I thought it was really fascinating—especially the eastern religions. You know, Daoism, Buddhism, Hinduism, that sort of thing." Mark nodded. "Well, I just kept taking classes, and…" She shrugged. "It was the topic that interested me the most. So I switched my major to Philosophy and Religion."

"And you decided to study it in grad school?"

"Yeah. Well, you know what they say about a philosophy degree: the only thing you can do with it is teach philosophy!" Mark grinned. "They only teach it on the college level, so to teach college…" She shrugged. "I needed a graduate degree." Mark nodded. "Now what about you? What got you into psychology?"

"Well, same as you, I took a class of it my senior year in high school, and I thought it was fascinating. There's so much depth to a topic like that! And I like working with people; I've got a knack for it. So I got an undergrad degree in psychology, and now I'm working on my doctorate for psychiatry, and interning at Grenville P. H. The rest you know." He smiled.

Hannah mulled over her cheeseburger. "So what did you think of Amondaur when he first came to the hospital?"

"Back to Amondaur, are we?" Mark teased.

Hannah smiled. "You had to admit, he's interesting."

"Oh, very. I'm thinking about publishing a case study on him. Maybe his delusions could lead to creating a new classification of mental illness."

Hannah didn't like that idea, for some reason.

"When he first came in, the first thing everybody noticed was the weapons, of course. It's not every day you come across a man wielding a bow and arrows, a big hunting knife, and a five foot long sword! And then of course, there were his clothes. Like something straight of a Renaissance faire. Only, they were actually of durable materials, and much worn—stained, torn, and rather smelly. Everything was completely plain and unadorned; entirely utilitarian. Except for a silver pin he wore on his cloak—beautiful thing. Shaped like a star."

"The Star of the Dúnedain!" Hannah exclaimed, her face lighting up.

"The what?"

"Star of the Dúnedain. It was a badge of kinship among the Rangers of the North. It was worn with pride and honor."

"Ah." Mark watched her expression, his own fading into a thoughtful smile. "You know, I think that's the first time I've seen you get excited about something relating to Tolkien."

"I must be slipping," Hannah said with a half-smile.

000

Mark picked up the check. Hannah tried to protest, but, "I told you you'd get some real non-dining-hall food for free," he reminded her.

He paused as they were getting in the car, then turned to her. "How would you like to see the clothes Amondaur arrived in?" he asked.

"Really?" Hannah asked dubiously.

"Yeah; we've got them at the Hospital. We can stop by there. You can tell me other things about the clothes I might not have noticed—like the Star of the Dúnedain. And it'll give me a chance to jot down what you told me about your outing with Amondaur."

Hannah deliberated for a moment, then nodded. "Sure, that'd be cool."

000

Mark took Hannah to his office in the Psychiatric hospital, and went off to fetch Amondaur's clothes. He returned a few minutes later and handed Hannah a large paper grocery bag. "It's all in there," he said, taking a seat nearby and pulling out his clipboard. "I warn you, though: it smells strongly of B. O."

"Of course," Hannah said off-handedly, wrinkling her nose as the smell hit her. "It's no easy thing to get a hot shower in the wild!"

Mark laughed and began writing down the details Hannah had shared with him earlier. Holding her breath a bit, Hannah pulled the items out of the bag one-by-one.

On top was the Star of the Dúnedain. It was a beautiful thing, with more intricate metalwork than Hannah had expected. She handled it reverently.

Next was a gray cloak, carefully folded. She shook it out and took a look at it. It was ragged and muddy at the bottom, but the well-worn material was of good quality.

The clothes were drab—black and gray, mostly. Most of them were made of leather or some other durable material. Stains and mended tears marked the long knee-length coat and tough leggings. There was also an under-tunic.

"The other things are there," Mark said, indicating an oddly-shaped package wrapped in a couple garbage bags. Inside, Hannah found Amondaur's boots and weapons.

The boots were unlike any others Hannah had ever seen: much like a leather sock, with thicker leather soles.

A quiver of tooled leather was filled with handmade arrows. The fletching was un-dyed. The hunting knife in its dark leather scabbard was utilitarian, but looked well-made—and well-used. Looking carefully, Hannah discovered a Tengwar character carved into the wooden handle. It was an M, with the diacritical mark for the A overtop: Amondaur's first initial.

She saved the sword for last. It was very plain, held in a battered leather sheath. Drawing it out, Hannah discovered it was fully five feet long—nearly as long as she was tall. The pommel, grip and cross-guard were unadorned, and the blade bore no inscription, only a blood groove. The locket and chape on the hilt were also unadorned.

"Completely plain and utilitarian gear," she reported to Mark. "His Sindarin first initial is carved into his knife hilt. Everything in here has been well-used—as you can guess from the smell," she added with a smile. "The clothing is all hand-stitched. Mostly leather. But you knew that already." She began putting away the clothing. "It's about as authentic as you can get."

Mark took down a few notes. "Still can't figure out what his classification would be," he mumbled.

Hannah bit her lip and paused in her work, then carried on. "Have you ever thought that maybe he isn't insane at all?" she asked quietly.

She was aware that Mark had set down his clipboard and was regarding her curiously.

"I mean," she went on, still folding Amondaur's clothes, "you mentioned once that maybe he's just a really good actor. You can't place him in a mentally ill category, and the more I'm with him, the more sane I think he is. You've heard of those studies where perfectly healthy people go into asylums just to see how long it takes somebody to notice?"

"Yeah, I have." Mark set down his clipboard and helped her get the long sword into its garbage bag wrappings again. When they were finished, he looked at her thoughtfully. "It's just possible you may be right," he said slowly. "He might be putting it on. But why?"

Hannah shrugged. "Eccentricity? Amusement? The attention? Just to see if he could?"

Mark nodded slowly. "I think we may need to give that some more thought. Because you are right; his lack of psychotic episodes and any criteria with which to place him in a normal category of mental illness might indicate complete sanity."

"Either that, or he's telling the truth," Hannah added, just to see Mark's reaction.

Whatever she had expected, she was disappointed. He just grinned. "Yeah. Right," he said.

000

But the more Hannah thought about it, throughout that week, the more doubts began to creep into her mind. Was it at all possible that he really was telling the truth? Because she was pretty certain now that he was not crazy. The choices then were that he was lying or telling the truth. Strangely enough, both of those choices looked equally likely to her. Amondaur was so nice and so absolutely sincere, she had a hard time imagining him lying about _anything_, much less about something so huge. That was why she had thought him insane in the first place—he seemed absolutely convinced himself of the reality of his claims. And that left the possibility that he was, in fact, telling the truth.

Hannah couldn't have tried to explain that if she tried. How could Middle-earth actually exist? It was fine to assume it did when you were reading an engrossing bit of fanfiction, but honestly, what were the odds? The world that some random professor named Tolkien had _invented_, for God's sake!—how could it _possibly_ be real? But it seemed Hannah had no choice but to believe it.

If only she could get proof of some kind! But she didn't know how.

The idea that Middle-earth really might exist raised all kinds of unarticulated hopes and fears in Hannah's mind. It would mean changing her entire way of thinking about the world, and that was a scary thing—like having a rug pulled out from under your feet. But if she liked the bare hardwood floor better than the rug in the first place, wouldn't it be better to fall on your ass if that was the only way to get to the bare, hard truth beneath?

_If_ Amondaur was actually telling the truth, then Middle-earth existed. And not only that, but the entire structure that Middle-earth sat on existed. For myths in Tolkien's Middle-earth were not old stories passed down through countless generations until all that was left in them was symbolism. They were actual, verifiable truth. Galadriel herself had seen the Valar in Valinor. Gandalf himself was a Maia. There were people still living at the time of the War of the Ring who had seen millennia-old history being made. If Middle-earth was real, so were all the crazy stories—like Beren coming back to life. And if that was all real, so were the Valar... Whenever Hannah reached this point in her reasoning, a little shiver went down her spine, and her heart jumped into her throat. In defense, her mind pulled back and said, _That's only _if _he's telling the truth._

And Hannah refused to believe without some honest-to-God proof.

**TBC**

**

* * *

AN:** Info on the Star of the Dúnedain comes from the encyclopedia on councilofelrond dot com. 

**Darkened Dreams**: I have a confession to make. I have never actually eaten at Applebee's. Mea culpa!

**Erasuithiel:** Pangaea. You got it right the second time. :)

**Cindy:** Thanks for reminding me! It's due to you that this chapter is now up!

**Please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

"You've been acting funny lately," Erica said one day, peering at her roommate over her world religions textbook.

"What makes you say that?" Hannah asked, not taking her eyes off of her computer screen.

"Well, let's see." Erica put down her book and began ticking off on her fingers. "You keep pausing in the middle of conversations and staring off into space. You were paying strict attention the other day in class when we were discussing Norse mythology, which I know you're totally not into. And you've been sitting at that computer for the last hour and a half googling Tolkien and mental illness and…" She peered at the screen. "Inter-dimensional travel?"

Hannah instantly reached out and turned off her monitor. "You little snoop!" she exclaimed.

Erica grinned. "Nice try. I'm _always _a snoop. But this is unusual behavior for you. So." She crossed her arms. "Spill the beans. Or do I have to try my new interrogation technique?"

"And what is that?" Hannah asked in a superior tone.

"Tickling," Erica said, flexing her fingers and slowly rising from her seat.

"Alright! Alright!" Hannah exclaimed, putting up her hands in surrender, then wracked her mind for an explanation that wouldn't sound insane.

"And don't even try lying," Erica said, as if she were reading her mind. "You're a horrible liar."

Hannah threw her hands in the air. "You're going to think I'm nuts."

"I think you're nuts already."

"Thanks."

"I try."

Hannah took a deep breath. "What if… what if Amondaur is actually telling the truth?"

Erica looked at her blankly for a moment, then started to laugh. "That's great!" she hooted. "No really, what are you doing?"

Hannah looked at her silently for a moment. "I was just wondering how well Amondaur had done his research," she answered off-handedly.

"Mm-hm. _Sure_ you were," Erica answered. "Well, it's your business if you don't want to tell me," she said without rancor, and stuck her face back into her textbook.

Hannah turned back to her computer screen.

000

Hannah and Amondaur continued their English lessons. But now, Hannah actually showed an interest in Amondaur's origins. He was quite happy to tell her about Middle-earth, and didn't ask why she suddenly wanted to know. In the interests of science (she told herself), Hannah asked him some of the questions she had always had about Tolkien's world.

"_This is perhaps a strange question, but were Glorfindel of Gondolin and Glorfindel of Rivendell the same person?_" she asked him.

Amondaur gave her a strange look, then laughed. "_Of course not! Glorfindel of Gondolin was killed by the Balrog,_" he explained slowly.

"_And he was not reborn in Aman?_"

"_Reborn in Aman?_" Amondaur repeated. "_I have never heard of such a thing. I am not the right one to ask about Aman_," he added.

So he didn't know about Elven reincarnation, then.

"_What about the Balrog? Did it have wings?_"

"_What questions you do ask!_" Amondaur said with a smile. "_I do not know that I have ever heard if the Balrog had wings or not. If it did, it certainly did not fly with them. I have thankfully never seen a Balrog._"

"_No, of course,_" Hannah mused.

"_Why are you curious about these things?_" Suddenly, he looked at her with suspicion. "_I thought you believed me to be mad._"

"_They are things that were never fully explained in the stories we have of Middle-earth_," Hannah answered calmly. "_I wondered what your opinion on them was._"

"Ah." Amondaur fell silent.

000

Hannah found herself chatting with Mark more than she ever had before. With the let-up in her homework load, she was able to stay after her time with Amondaur and chat with Mark in his office.

Mark couldn't understand why Hannah was so interested in philosophy.

"I have to admit, I don't know much about it." He grinned. "I struggled my way through one semester of it and gave up. Which is your favorite philosophy?"

"Theravada Buddhism," Hannah answered.

"Terra who?"

Hannah laughed. "Theravada. I suppose you could say it's conservative Buddhism. Basically holds entirely to what Buddha taught. Unlike Mahayana Buddhism."

Mark laughed. "See? You've lost me already!"

"Mahayana Buddhism is more 'liberal'. It encompasses pretty much all the other kinds of Buddhism—like Tibetan Buddhism, with the Dalai Lama, or Amida Buddhism."

"Buddhism was actually my least favorite subject when I had a class on world religions," Mark admitted. "Why do you like it? It seems really pessimistic to me. I mean, each person is just a collection of parts, and when you get done being reincarnated—Poof! You're gone. It's like the entire point of existence to exist in a way so that eventually you can stop existing."

"Well, for someone who doesn't understand philosophy, it looks like you've remembered your stuff pretty well!" Hannah said with a laugh. "And I don't think it's pessimistic. I mean, if you decide that existence is suffering, wouldn't non-existence be a relief?"

Mark shrugged. "I guess so. I suppose it all hinges on whether or not you think existence is suffering. Do you believe that?"

Hannah shrugged. "Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don't."

But she knew that if Amondaur really was telling the truth, her entire view of the world was going to have to undergo a massive change. The idea scared her a bit. It was a frightening idea—that all of her assumptions about the nature of the universe were wrong. It made her feel infinitely small.

000

Hannah stayed later than usual with Amondaur one evening, and as Mark wasn't terribly busy at the moment, Hannah and Mark ended up sitting in Mark's office again, chatting.

"So where are you from, anyway?" Mark asked. It was strange that in all their discussions, he had never asked her about this basic information.

"Forest City. It's about a two hour drive from here. You?"

"Franklin. My family moved there when I was in seventh grade."

"Got any siblings?"

"A little sister—Emily. She's a freshman in high school."

"Wow; big age gap."

Mark nodded. "What about you? Any brothers or sisters?"

"No," Hannah said. "Just Mom and Dad and me." She changed the subject. "How's that case study on Amondaur going?"

"Great so far," Mark said, "thanks to all the information I'm getting from you! Maybe you can help me interview him one of these days?"

"Sure. But don't you think he's object to it? The case study, I mean. I know if I were him, I wouldn't want my story published to the world."

Mark shrugged. "Maybe. We'll ask him. Most patients as mentally ill as him aren't in enough touch with reality to try and explain the situation to them!"

Hannah nodded thoughtfully.

"Mark?" a ward orderly said, sticking his head in the door. "Could you come down and see to Mr. Fisher?"

"Of course." He stood up. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then!" he said to Hannah with a big smile.

Hannah headed toward the front door of the building. Mark's words stuck in her mind—_Most patients as mentally ill as him aren't in touch with reality…_He had said similar unsettling things about Amondaur's condition so many times:_ He has me stumped… He doesn't fit any of the traditional disorders…_

The picture of Amondaur's mock battle in the tower flashed into Hannah's mind. Gathering her courage, she faced the question head-on:

What if they were all wrong? What if—what _if_—Amondaur were actually telling the truth?

Hannah finally admitted it to herself. She thought he was.

She couldn't help the grin that spread over her face. It felt so good to finally completely admit it! She believed Amondaur was telling the truth; that he really _was_ from Middle-earth. And that meant Middle-earth was real, and all the stories were true…

Hannah had just stepped onto the sidewalk when she suddenly realized she didn't have her purse.

"Shoot," she said to herself quite cheerfully, and turned around to go back in the building.

She checked Mark's office first. It wasn't there. She must have left it in Amondaur's room.

The door was open when she reached it, so she stepped right up to it.

"_I am sorry, Amondaur, but I appear to have—_" She broke off.

Amondaur had been reading a magazine as she came in, and the instant she spoke, quickly closed it and put it down where she couldn't see it. But he wasn't fast enough: she had seen the title.

_The Medieval Re-enactors' Guild_.

**TBC**

**

* * *

AN:** Uh-oh… 

I know this chapter's really short. But this is where I wanted to cut it. :)

I feel I have to clear something up, here. A couple people mentioned how ironic it was that Hannah wanted some "honest-to-God proof" of the existence of Middle-earth, and therefore the Valar. They cited the idea that if the Valar were real, then God wasn't. This is a misconception. Tolkien's Valar are actually the product of his ingenious mixture of the polytheistic mythologies he liked so much with his own Catholic beliefs. The Valar are both arch-angels and gods, but there _is_ a creator God—Eru Ilúvatar, the creator of the Valar. Yes, he implements the Valar in the act of creation in a way that is not quite the same as the Judeo-Christian God, but it's the same guy. If you don't believe me, check out the Messianic prophecy in the _Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth_. Tolkien was a devout Catholic, and saw Middle-earth as our earth, only long in the past. So although he wanted the polytheistic pantheon, he also had to make his world match up with his beliefs about our world, hence Eru Ilúvatar. Just thought I'd clear that up. :) So the line is still ironic, just not in the sense that some people took it.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! **Please, give an encore performance! **Happy New Year, everybody!


	8. Chapter 8

"Hannah?" Amondaur said in concern as he rose to greet her.

She couldn't speak for a moment. Then an ugly look came over her face.

"You son of a _bitch!_" she finally managed. "You were lying the whole time! Just putting it on! What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Hannah? _I cannot understand you,_" Amondaur said gently, concern written all over his face. Hannah felt a strong urge to hit him.

"Oh, don't go pulling that crap with me," she said, disgusted. "You understand me perfectly well. Did you think you were going to convince anybody that you really were from Middle-earth—just to kick up a lark? Well you _failed_. _Nobody _believes you. I think you're nuts."

"_Hannah, what is it?_" he asked again, slowly approaching.

"You stay back!" She was shouting now. "Keep your filthy hands off of me! Oh, you make me _sick!_"

Tears rose in Hannah's eyes, but she couldn't let Amondaur—or whoever he _really _was—see them. Without another word, she turned and ran blindly from the room, heading for the nearest exit. She could hear Mark behind her yelling angrily, "Hannah? Hannah, where are you going?"

The nearest door was to the courtyard, and Hannah burst out of it and into the dark like all the demons of hell were after her. She fled unthinking down one of the gravel paths, and collapsed onto a bench, covering her face with her hands as she sobbed. The gravel crunched under Mark's feet as he ran after her.

"Hannah!" He sounded angry, and now he seemed to have caught up with her. "Hannah, what in God's name—" He cut himself off, seeing that she was crying. She turned her head away and tried to quiet herself, but it didn't work.

"Hannah, what's the matter?" he asked in a much gentler and more worried tone. She shook her head. He hesitated a moment, then came and sat beside her. "What is it?" he asked quietly.

Hannah gulped and tried furiously to wipe the tears off her face, not looking at him. "I used to love _Lord of the Rings_," she said, the words tumbling out before she even thought about it.

"What?"

"When I was a kid," she clarified, her voice hindered by sobs. "I found the books when I was about thirteen, and I was instantly hooked." She tried to smile, and failed. "I became completely obsessed with them. I'm sure my parents got sick of hearing about it after awhile. I read all of Tolkien's works, his biography, his letters… Hell, I even learned Elvish!" she said, trying desperately for a little comedy. It only made the tears come hotter and faster. "My favorite part of the books is when Gandalf comes back to life. You know, he meets Legolas and Aragorn and Gimli in Fangorn Forest, and Legolas shouts for joy and shoots an arrow into the sky… My sister used to make fun of me."

"Your sister?" Mark sounded confused.

Hannah nodded. "Grace. She was two years older than me. It used to make me mad that my parents named me Hannah, because it means _Grace_. It was like they were naming me after her. She used to tease me and say that if I said the word 'Elf' one more time, she was going to curse me, and I'd wake up one morning with pointy ears. God." She paused for a moment, and suddenly stopped crying in shock. "I haven't said her name in over a year."

Mark looked very concerned, and gently put his arm around Hannah's shoulders. She didn't shake him off. In a moment, she continued.

"One weekend, when I was in tenth grade and my sister was a senior, Grace went to a football game." Hannah's voice was perfectly level and calm now; she felt like she was listening to someone else speak.. "On the way home, she fell asleep at the wheel and veered into oncoming traffic. She had a head-on collision with a pickup truck and was killed instantly. She had to have a closed-casket funeral." She stopped again, unsure how to go on.

"I'm sorry," Mark said, sounding sincere.

Hannah shook her head, and felt the sobs rising back in her throat. She tried to choke them back, with imperfect success.

"Once the initial shock was over, I started thinking. Gandalf rose from the dead in the books, and Lúthien sang so beautifully that Mandos let Beren go. I knew that was fiction, but still… And my parents raised us Christian, and didn't Jesus raise Lazarus from the dead?

"I spent hours every night praying that God would let Grace come back to life. I prayed so hard, I woke up every morning expecting to see her come walking in the door. I dreamed about her at night. But nothing happened, and I started getting angry. If God let Lazarus come back from the dead and be with his sisters, why couldn't he let Grace? Grace loved God, why didn't God love her enough to give her back to us? Why didn't God love _us_ enough?"

Her expression darkened. "And then one day, I picked up _Lord of the Rings_ for the first time since Grace's death, and I flipped open _The Two Towers_, and of course the book fell open to my favorite passage, where Gandalf comes back to life." Her brows lowered, and she set her mouth in a thin, angry line.

"And I just ripped the books up," she said coldly, her voice shaking. "I took my entire Tolkien collection out into the woods, ripped them up, and burned them."

Hot tears of fury and grief began to run down her face again. "It was just a pack of lies, all of it. Beren didn't come back from the dead. Gandalf didn't come back from the dead. Lazarus didn't come back from the dead. People don't come back to life." She was sobbing now, and she couldn't seem to stop. "Death is not dramatic, and it's not glorious, and it's not even momentous. It's just a gap you can't see. My sister went to a football game one night and I never saw her again. That's all." She was crying in earnest now, and she vaguely felt Mark putting his arms around her. "I hate Tolkien, and I hate God! How could he do that? Why did he love Mary and Martha more than he loved me? They got Lazarus back. Why couldn't I get Grace back? She was all I wanted, all I asked for. But no one gets up after death. All that was left of her was her empty room and her unfinished homework on the bed and the green shirt of hers that I'd borrowed the day before, laying in the bottom of my hamper."

She was babbling, and she knew it, but she couldn't stop, even though the sobs that made her voice jump so horribly threatened to choke her. "And Amondaur almost made me believe it was all true, all over again! But it's _not_! It's _not _true, and it'll _never_ be true. I'll never get her back. She didn't see me graduate and she won't be the maid of honor in my wedding and I won't get to meet any more of her boyfriends or hold her first baby!" The tears caught in her throat, and she started to cough. Mark rubbed her back and murmured, and she finally gave in and just let herself cry, like she hadn't cried in years.

When her sobs had finally run out, she just sat there and leaned into Mark in total exhaustion. "I thought Amondaur was telling the truth. And if he was from Middle-earth, then Middle-earth was real, and the Valar was real, and _God_ was real, and Beren and Gandalf really did come back to life…" she whispered hoarsely. "But Amondaur's a fraud. He's just acting. _This _is what happens to wishful thinking. You get your hopes up, and then they only get dashed. I should've _known_," she said bitterly. "I should've known better than to believe something to patently impossible."

They were both silent for a long time after that, sitting motionless on the courtyard bench beneath the pole light. Finally, Hannah shifted and moved away, and Mark let her go. Hannah felt vaguely embarrassed, but she was too tired to care what he thought of her right now. His expression showed only concern.

"You believed Amondaur was telling the truth?" he said quietly.

She nodded, not looking at him.

"What made you change your mind?"

"I forgot my purse, so I went back to his room to get it. I surprised him reading a magazine, and he put it down immediately. But I saw the cover. He's a medieval re-enactor."

Mark was quiet for a long time. Finally Hannah regained some courage and looked up at him. There was an odd expression on his face.

"Hannah," he said slowly, "_I_ gave him that magazine."

"What?"

"I found it at my one friend's house, and he let me have it. I gave it to Amondaur because I thought he'd like looking at the pictures. I often get used magazines to give to patients."

Hannah looked at him blankly. "Then why did he put it down so fast when I came in?"

"I think it's just courtesy," Mark answered. "I got him other magazines to look at before, and he always puts them down immediately when people come in the room."

Hannah suddenly remembered seeing Amondaur flipping through a magazine the day she had taken him out to the park. Now that she thought about it, he had put that one down quickly, too. She thought at the time that he was just excited. Maybe he was only being polite.

Hannah passed her hand over her face. "I chewed him out in English," she said heavily. "Oh God, I feel awful. I should apologize."

Mark stood up. "Why don't you apologize tomorrow, when you're feeling more yourself?" he suggested kindly. "I can make an explanation for you tonight."

Hannah nodded and stood. "That'd probably be good. I'm sorry I've caused so much trouble."

Mark shook his head. "You were overwrought. It could happen to anyone. Come on, I'll drive you back to your dorm."

Hannah didn't object to this plan. She hadn't relished the idea of walking back through town with her face all splotchy from crying.

000

Hannah waited in Mark's office while Mark went to Amondaur's room to fetch her purse and make an excuse from her, and then Mark drove her home.

He stopped his car in front of her dorm.

"Thanks," she said, getting out of the car. "For everything."

"No problem. Are you sure you're gonna be alright?"

Hannah nodded and managed a tight grin. "Yeah. I'll live."

She moved to shut the door, but Mark stopped her. "Wait a second," he said, and rummaged around for a pencil and a scrap of paper. "Here's my cell number," he said, handing it to her. "If you ever need to talk, day or night, give me a call."

Hannah nodded and stuck it in her pocket. "Thanks." She actually managed to smile. "Really. Thank you."

"My pleasure." Mark smiled back.

Hannah shut the car door and walked away. Once she was in the door, she heard Mark pull away from the curb and drive away.

If she was lucky, Erica would be at the fitness center, working out. She could just get in the room and go to bed, and no one would ask her any questions.

As she walked down the hall, Hannah absently pulled the piece of paper out of her pocket and turned it over and over in her hands.

**TBC**

**

* * *

AN: **You cannot imagine how shocked and thrilled I was this morning to open my inbox and see so many reviews! the way to start a new year!

When Hannah called death "A gap you can't see", she was quoting _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead_ by Tom Stoppard, the same piece from which the title comes.

**crazeeI:** The end of your review appears to have been cut off.

**JaffeeLeeds:** lol I hear ya! And you shall see how I handle the relationship in the end. I think you'll be pleased. :)

**Please review! **Once again, happy New Year!


	9. Chapter 9

Hannah was tempted to call in sick the next day, but in the end she knew that she had to go and apologize to Amondaur.

Mark was waiting for her just inside the doors of the psychiatric hospital.

"Hey," she said, not making eye contact. She tucked her hair behind her ears and stuck her hands in her pockets.

"Hey," he answered, and she glanced up at him. He looked concerned, but gave her a smile. "How are you?"

"Better." She smiled back, then took a deep breath. "I'm not looking forward to this."

"I'm sure he'll be very understanding," Mark assured her as they headed toward Amondaur's room.

"What did you tell him last night?"

"That you had misconstrued something and were very sorry for yelling at him, but that you were upset and I was taking you home. He seemed concerned."

Hannah ducked her head and nodded.

When they reached Amondaur's door, Mark turned to Hannah. "Do you want me to come in with you?"

She shook her head. "No, I should do this myself."

"Alright." He patted her shoulder. "Good luck."

Hannah took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped up to Amondaur's doorway.

He glanced up at her and immediately put down his magazine, in what Hannah should've realized before was a characteristic gesture. His expression was very serious, but Hannah couldn't read it.

She bit her lip and looked at the floor. "_Amondaur, I—I am very sorry about yelling at you last night. It was—a misunderstanding. I should never have done it._"

She looked up at him. His expression hadn't changed. "_What was it you misunderstood?_" he asked, Hannah thought, coldly.

"_I…_" How to explain this? "_I saw the booklet you were reading. It was written—to help people pretend to be from your culture. I thought it was your booklet, and that you had used it to lie to me—to us,_" she corrected herself quickly. "_I was not thinking about it. I should have known it could not be your booklet. Mark told me he lent it to you._" Hannah felt miserable. "_I am sorry I doubted you._" She felt tears rise up in her eyes, and bit her lips to keep from crying.

Amondaur looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, then suddenly stood up, walked over to her, and gave her a hug.

Hannah hugged him back and felt tears slip down her cheeks. "_I am truly sorry,_" she managed on a sob.

"_It is well. I forgive you,_" Amondaur said kindly.

"Thank you," Hannah said in a watery voice.

After a minute, Amondaur released her. "_Come sit down._"

Hannah obeyed, wiping her eyes off with her sleeves. She smiled at Amondaur as he took a seat facing her. "_This is the third big scene I have made in three days_," she said with a shaky laugh.

Amondaur smiled. "_The first was quite dramatic! Tell me, what exactly did you say?_"

"_Ohh, you do not want to know,_" Hannah answered, shaking her head. "_It was not at all courteous._"

Amondaur chuckled. Then he went over to the stack of magazines by his bed and picked one up, handing it to her. "_That was what I was looking at,_" he said. "_I could not read it. Mark thought I would like the pictures._"

"_And did you?_" Hannah asked, flipping through it. It seemed to be a combination of magazine and catalog, filled with historical costumes and fantasy weaponry.

"_I enjoyed some of it, but some of it was quite foreign to me,_" he said. "_Some of the clothing is very strange. And the weapons!_" He pointed to one of the fantasy knives, the blade fantastically shaped. "_This knife would not be of any use at all,_" he said, shaking his head.

Hannah laughed. "_As I told you, this was written for people who _pretend _to be from your culture. They would never actually use this knife. It is only for show._"

Amondaur shook his head. "_How foolish,_" he murmured. "_It is a waste to buy it, then. And do they not have anything better to do with their time?_"

Hannah grinned. "_Apparently not._"

There was a rap on the doorframe, and they both looked up. "I didn't hear any screaming or furniture breaking, so I figured it was safe to come in," Mark said with a smile. "All patched up?"

"Yep," Hannah answered.

"Good. I'm taking a little time off this evening, and I'd like to take you both to dinner."

Hannah translated to Amondaur, who smiled widely. "_I would appreciate that very much,_" he said happily.

"We both accept," Hannah told Mark.

"Good. I've got to get a good bit of work done before this evening! I'll come by again at five." He left them alone.

Amondaur looked back at Hannah. "_Mark said you were very upset last night, and I gather it was for more reasons than my supposed untruthfulness. What upset you?_"

Hannah turned and looked out his window. "_It looks nice outside. How about we go into the courtyard, and I will tell you._"

000

When Hannah had finished telling Amondaur about Grace's death, she added, "_I suppose I have never allowed myself to acknowledge her death. I never let myself cry about it; I just packed it all inside and would not talk about it._" She paused. "_I need to apologize to my parents. I have not treated them fairly in all this. I let them go through their grief without me, then resented them because they had come to terms with what happened, while I had not._"

Amondaur was silent for a time. "_How did that booklet I was looking at bring all of this up?_" he asked gently.

Hannah paused. She wasn't sure if she wanted to explain it all—or even if she _could_ explain it.

"_I was… uhm… just upset,_" she hedged.

Amondaur nodded, but she didn't think he believed her. He didn't press her, however.

000

Dinner was a great treat for Amondaur, and Hannah and Mark enjoyed it, as well. It was Amondaur's first ride in a car (or at least, the first that he had been conscious for). He was a little apprehensive at first, but soon relaxed.

They had a very entertaining conversation, despite the fact that everything had to be translated.

"_Your Sindarin is improving,_" Amondaur said approvingly after Hannah managed to translate one of Mark's jokes. "_You are becoming quite fast._"

"_Thank you. I am very impressed with your English, too._" Amondaur had greeted their waitress and thanked her for his food.

"_I suppose this has been a learning experience for both of us,_" Amondaur said lightly, picking up a French fry.

"Yes," Hannah said slowly, "it has."

When she translated for Mark, he agreed. "For all of us." He exchanged a small smile with Hannah. Amondaur glanced between them surreptitiously from under his brows, then smiled a private smile.

000

Mark and Amondaur took Hannah home before going back to the hospital.

"_This is where you live?_ _This is your school?_" Amondaur asked as the gothic buildings of the college came into view.

"_Yes, it is. And that,_" she added, pointing, "_is the building I live in._"

"_It is quite large._"

"_And full of silly eighteen-year-olds!_" Hannah added with a laugh.

Mark pulled up by the curb, and Hannah got out. "Thanks for the ride. I'll see you tomorrow! Goodbye, Amondaur!"

"Goodbye, Hannah! See you tomorrow!" Amondaur said, and Hannah smiled.

"See ya!"

000

"So do you believe Amondaur is telling the truth?" Mark asked Hannah out of the blue two days later.

She looked at him in surprise. They were chatting in his office again. Whenever Hannah didn't have to run back to her dorm to do homework and Mark didn't have anything pressing to work on, they retired to his office and either talked or worked on Mark's case study. Hannah still wasn't sure what she thought of that project.

She gave him a cynical smile. "Why do you want to know that? _You _don't believe him," she pointed out.

"No, I don't," Mark agreed. "But I'm very interested. So?"

Hannah pressed her lips together and shook her head. "Even after you told me where his magazine came from… I'm not sure I can still believe him like I did. That incident just brought all my doubts to the surface again—and made me feel really stupid for believing him!" she added. "No. I don't believe he's telling the truth. But still, the question of exactly _what_ his diagnosis is still niggles in the back of my mind." She shrugged. "I really don't know what to think."

Mark nodded and was silent. After a minute, he changed the subject. But Hannah didn't forget the conversation.

**TBC**

* * *

**AN**: That was a hard chapter to finish, for some reason.

**Jaffee Leed**: Yeah, I'm not a huge profanity fan, but it does have its dramatic uses! Yes, I want a Mark of my own. :)

**lathalian:** Thank you! Never having been in a psych hospital, I'm mostly doing guesswork here and hoping I'm close enough. You'll notice I didn't go into detail on her training or give too many descriptions of the hospital itself. :) Yeah, a lot of people write "girl-falls-into-Middle-earth" fics and don't take into account the fact that in Tolkien's mind, Middle-earth was our earth in a pre-messianic era. I thought it'd be interesting to mess with that concept. :)

**Please review!**


	10. Chapter 10

Despite Hannah's assertion that she no longer believed Amondaur, the entire situation still bothered her. Her own feelings aside, it was hard to believe that Amondaur was insane. He didn't seem to fit the diagnoses at all.

Mark agreed with her. Two days later he told her that he had written an article about Amondaur and the case study and sent it off to a psychology journal to be published. The journal appeared to be quite interested, and would be running the article in its next issue, which would come out that week.

"Do you think the medical community will be interested in Amondaur?" Hannah wanted to know.

"I definitely think so. I wouldn't be surprised if a couple experts come down to talk to him—in which case we'll probably need to call on you for translation."

Hannah set her lips. "I don't know what I think about that—people coming down to stare at him like he's some sort of sideshow."

Mark looked at her in surprise. "I hadn't thought of it that way. They may be able to help him, Hannah. If they can give him the right diagnosis, maybe they can find the right medication and therapy to make him well again. You know he's miserable, even though he hides it."

Finally, Hannah nodded glumly. "I guess you're right."

"So can we count on you to translate should the occasion arise?" Mark asked her.

"Of course. I wouldn't leave you—or Amondaur—in the lurch."

Mark smiled. "I know you wouldn't."

000

The week passed slowly. Mark's article appeared in the journal, and he showed it to Hannah with evident pride. Erica's great aunt died, and she went home for a few days for the funeral. Hannah finished and turned in a twenty-page paper on Lao Tzu for her Eastern Philosophy class. With the stress of the paper no longer hanging over her head and an empty dorm room to come back to, Hannah felt she needed something to do. An idea came to her while she was with Mark one afternoon.

"Did they ever tell you where the police originally picked Amondaur up?" she asked him.

Mark raised his eyebrows. "_That_ was out of the blue."

She smiled. "Sorry. Did they?"

"Yes, he was on the highway, right by that sign that says 'State Park Ahead Right'." Hannah nodded and wrote it down. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'd like to go up there and check it out—you know, ask the park officials what they know, see if there's been a car parked in one of their lots since Amondaur appeared—that sort of thing."

Mark raised his eyebrows.

"If you must know," Hannah finally said, "I'm curious. Besides, I need to get out of the dorm and this hospital—no offense." Mark shook his head with a smile. "Now that I've finished my paper, I need to get out and relax a little." She paused. "I need to figure out what I'm going to say to my parents when I see them next weekend," she added quietly.

Mark nodded in understanding. "You should probably ask Amondaur to tell you where he came out in woods," he suggested. "You could try and follow his trail. Not that you'll find anything anyway."

"I know. I'm no Ranger of the North!" Hannah answered with a smile. "I doubt even Aragorn could follow his tracks now, months later." She shrugged. "I'd just like to take a look for myself."

000

Amondaur was surprisingly helpful in giving directions.

"_When I appeared in the forest, one of the first things I saw was a great large tree with some kind of ivy climbing up it. I traveled southwest until I reached the road, at the corner of a row of old fenceposts. Then I followed the road east until the guards came up to me. Will that help you?_"

"Very much," Hannah answered, taking notes.

"_You are going to look for the place where I crossed from Arnor to America?_" Amondaur asked.

"Yes. I want to see it."

"There is no door," Amondaur said clearly.

"What?"

"There is no door to Arnor," Amondaur repeated sadly. "_I think it will be gone,_" he explained, switching to Sindarin. "_I only wish there were some way for me to go home._"

Hannah bit her lip, then reached forward and gave him a hug. "I'm sorry," she said, and meant it.

000

Hannah drove up to the state park that Sunday, and parked her car by the main office.

Luckily, the head ranger happened to be in his office.

"I'm from Grenville Psychiatric Hospital," Hannah said, stretching the truth a little. "We're looking into the appearance of one of our patients along the highway right by the park."

"Oh yeah, that guy with the sword they picked up a few months back," Mr. Anthony recalled.

"Yeah, that's him. We wondered if he had driven to the park. Are there any cars that have been sitting here for a few months? Vehicles abandoned on nearby roads? Maybe an unidentified horse running loose?"

Mr. Anthony shook his head. "Nope. We had an abandoned car, but it was abandoned the week after your patient was picked up." Hannah nodded. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."

"That's alright," Hannah said with her most winning smile. "I think I'm going to try and retrace his steps and see if I can find anything."

"Of course. Don't hesitate to come back if you need anything!"

Hannah thanked him, and left the office. It was cold outside, but the bitter winter wind had thankfully died down. Wrapping her coat warmly around herself, Hannah walked back to the highway, then started making her way west along it.

The woods were gloomy beneath the grey sky, the bare branches of trees simply a confusion of brown lines against the flat clouds. Hannah would be glad for spring to come again. Hopefully by spring she would have patched things up with her parents. Maybe she would go home more this summer. Amondaur's English was improving, and maybe by then she would be able to take more days off from work during the week.

After several minutes, she came upon a row of old fence posts along the road. Turning here, she stepped off of the road and into the woods.

Her heart began to pound a little as she stepped in among the trees. She wasn't sure why; after all, she didn't expect to actually find anything. But this was exciting nonetheless—a little detective work, a little adventure. She was going into the dark woods, like Little Red Riding Hood. Only she doubted she would meet any wolves.

Digging in her pocket, she pulled out the compass she had borrowed from a professor and figured out which direction northeast was.

"And off to Grandmother's house I go," she whispered with a grin, heading northeast.

000

She stopped every five minutes to make sure she was walking in the right direction, and kept scanning the woods around her to see if she could find a large tree with ivy climbing up it.

Hannah stuffed the compass in her pocket and heaved a sigh. This was a wild goose chase. She was surely off of Amondaur's trail by now, and she couldn't see any trees ahead of her that were any larger than average. She had tramped through brush and thorns and all she had was a few slices for her trouble. What had she expected to find, anyway? A big sign saying, "Amondaur wuz here"?

With another sigh, Hannah turned back the way she came and took two steps before stopping abruptly. There, off to the right, was a very large tree.

Curious, Hannah made her way toward it, pausing halfway there to untangle herself from the underbrush.

The tree was very large—three feet in diameter, Hannah estimated. Trailing up it were the ugly, brown, spider-leg garlands that denoted dead poison ivy.

She walked around the tree once, careful not to touch the ivy. It stretched far up above her, reaching its bare, dark branches into the gray winter sky.

Well, this was it. A big tree, some dead poison ivy, and nothing else. One last time, she turned in a slow circle—and froze.

There, not sixty feet away, stood a green tree. Not an evergreen, but a tree covered in green leaves. Green grass poked up among the twigs at its base, and there were a few yellow and white flowers peeking out—Hannah couldn't identify them. There seemed to be sunlight shining on the tree, though there was no break in the clouds above. It stood incongruously among the black, bare branches of the surrounding trees, like a beautiful young girl in a graveyard.

Hannah couldn't believe her eyes. She rubbed her eyes and looked again, but the vision stayed the same.

As she watched, the air seemed to shimmer before the tree, and the colors faded in and out.

_The door is closing,_ Hannah realized. _Who knows how long it'll stay open?_ And then, _Amondaur must go through, and soon!_

Tearing her eyes away from the tree, she turned and fled back the way she had come.

**TBC**

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AN:** A little short, I suppose. You'll live. :) 

**I, Sylandriana:** lol Welcome aboard!

**Jaffee Leeds: **And you'd probably beat me, too. I'm a ballet dancer, but I'm not much of a fighter!

**Please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

Back in her car, Hannah pulled out her cell phone. She had put Mark's number in after he gave it to her, and dialed it now.

"Hello?"

"Mark? It's Hannah. Listen to me." She pulled out onto the highway, driving one-handed. "Amondaur is telling the truth. I went through the woods to the place he said he came through to our world, and there is a…a portal or something there. I swear I am not making this up. But I think the portal might be closing soon. We have to get him through it, fast!"

There was a long pause on the other end. "Hannah—" Mark began slowly. Hannah could tell by the reverberation of his voice that he was in his office.

"Mark, I know it sounds nuts. But I swear, I'm telling you the truth!"

"I believe you."

"It—You do?" Hannah was brought up short.

"Yes, I do. But Hannah, I don't know if we _can_ get him out!"

"What do you mean?"

"My article sparked some interest, and there are some experts coming in half an hour to interview Amondaur. They want to take him to their own institution, and Ron Keller has agreed."

"_What?_"

Mark sounded miserable. "They're taking him away tonight."

"Then we have to get him out before they come!"

"Where are you?"

"Just left the park."

"Then it'll take you half an hour to get here, and they'll be here by then!"

"Then you have to distract them while I go in and get Amondaur! And his sword, if possible."

"Hannah, you know as well as I do that there are surveillance cameras all over the building!" Mark exclaimed. "And we can't have you being blamed for breaking him out—or me either, for that matter," he added.

Hannah was silent for a long moment, thinking. "He could sneak out a side door himself," she said slowly, "if he had a key."

"He doesn't."

"But I do." She thought hard. "Tell the people on duty on the front door and the ward that I lost my key, and to let me through to your office. Tell them I'm borrowing some of Amondaur's gear to examine it a little more closely. If they mention that the experts might want to see it… Well, just hope they don't think of it. When the experts get there, give them a tour of the facilities or something—keep them away from your ward. I'll be there as soon as I can."

000

It was getting dark by the time Hannah reached the psychiatric hospital. There were more cars than usual parked outside. The experts were there already, then. Hannah prayed that Mark would be able to distract them long enough.

The guard who usually stood near the front door let her in when he saw her coming. "I hope you didn't lose your key inside the facilities," he said disapprovingly. "We can't have any of the patients picking it up!"

"Oh, I don't think I did. I probably accidentally kicked it under the bed or something," Hannah said as blithely as she could. Erica always said she was a terrible liar, but the guard didn't look suspicious, only gave a condemning sniff.

A more courteous ward orderly let her into Amondaur's ward. "I'm sorry to put everyone to so much trouble!" Hannah said, thanking her. She didn't have to lie about that. She really was sorry, and hoped no one would get in trouble for her actions tonight.

She went to Mark's office first, trying to move casually and not too quickly. She felt like everyone was staring at her, and it suddenly seemed very hard to walk normally.

Mark had left his office door unlocked for her, and had laid out the bags of Amondaur's clothes and weapons by his desk. Hannah picked them up, and then headed to Amondaur's room, as if she were just going to a quick hello.

"Amondaur?" she said at the door, and he looked up from his magazine in surprise.

"Hannah? I thought today you do not come," he said, putting down the magazine and rising to greet her.

"_Amondaur, listen to me,_" Hannah said, trying to keep her voice low and make it sound to anyone passing as if she were just having a normal conversation with him in Sindarin. "_I found the door to your world. It is still open._" Amondaur's eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth to speak.

"_Do not speak! We must not let anyone else know. You have to escape before those men come to take you away. Here—_" She dug in her pocket and quickly handed him her key. "_Put that in your pocket, quickly._" He complied. "_Now here is what you need to do._"

000

Two minutes later, the guard at the front door let her out. Calmly and casually, Hannah put her two bags in the back of her car, got in, and drove away. She went around the corner and pulled into the parking lot by the service entrance. Most of the doors here led to the cafeteria, but one opened off of the ward next to Amondaur's. She parked close enough that Amondaur would immediately see her in her car, but far enough away that the surveillance cameras wouldn't catch her car on film.

Hannah waited anxiously, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel and constantly looking around for any witnesses. But the place was quiet.

After several minutes, the door opened suddenly, and Amondaur slipped out swiftly and silently and climbed into the back seat of Hannah's car. As fast as she could manage without making a ruckus, Hannah drove out into the alley and onto the highway, heading toward the state park.

"_How did it go?_" she asked Amondaur, who had discovered his personal effects in the bags and was putting on his weapons, cloak, and boots.

"_I think that none saw me. After waiting for five minutes as you told me, I waited in our hall until the healer was not looking, then went through the door into the next hall. By a great stroke of luck, there was no one watching that ward, and I managed to get out._"

Hannah knew that his departure would be noticed quite soon, and that the surveillance cameras had taken footage of him using a key to get through the ward doors and the side door by the service entrance. With any luck, they would decide that Hannah had indeed somehow lost her key while in Amondaur's ward, or that Amondaur had managed to sneak it out of her purse. That way, neither Hannah nor Mark would be incriminated. The hospital would be quite upset with Hannah, of course—but then, she wouldn't be working there anymore, with her one client escaped and gone! And no one would suspect Mark was in on the jailbreak. He had taken her phone call in the privacy of his office.

Hannah's cell phone rang, and turning on the cab light, she looked to see who was calling. It was the psych hospital. Hannah put the phone back down without answering. If it had been Mark calling to warn her, he would have used his own cell phone. That had been the arrangement.

"_Did you see Mark or the healers with him?_" Hannah asked suddenly.

"_No; he must have kept them away in another hall,_" Amondaur answered, pinning the Star of the Dúnedain on his shoulder.

Hannah silently blessed Mark and his people skills, and hoped that none of the experts would be upset with him when they found their patient gone. She thought they wouldn't be, only annoyed and disappointed.

"Hannah," Amondaur suddenly said from the back seat, "What does 'Hannah' mean?"

Hannah glanced up at him in the rearview mirror, surprised. "Grace—_galu_," she translated. "_Tolkien translated it 'Eruanna' in Quenya_," she added.

"_Eruanna_," Amondaur repeated quietly. It literally meant 'God-gift'.

They were both silent until they reached the state park.

000

Hannah parked along the highway by the end of the fencerow rather than in the parking lot, hoping no one would notice them. She grabbed a flashlight out from under the front seat, and she and Amondaur headed into the trees in the dark, Amondaur carrying his bag of clothes, and Hannah with her compass.

Hannah worried that they wouldn't find the way back to the portal. And in fact, they walked longer than she thought they should have. She began to grow anxious.

"_What is that?_" Amondaur suddenly asked, pointing through the trees.

Hannah shone her flashlight in the direction he had pointed and stared. "_I see nothing,_" she answered.

"_Blow out your light,_" he said, and Hannah turned off the flashlight. When her eyes adjusted to the pitch darkness around her, she realized what it was he had seen. A faint white glow was coming from somewhere off to their left. It looked like a beam of moonlight—but the clouds were so thick overhead that no moon shone through.

It was the portal.

Without a word, Amondaur and Hannah hurried toward the glow. Eventually, Hannah had to turn her flashlight on again—she was getting caught in the undergrowth. She couldn't move through the woods nearly as swiftly or smoothly as Amondaur. He patiently helped to untangle her.

In a few minutes, they were standing before the tree, which glowed in the summery moonlight of Middle-earth. The lovely scent of honeysuckle wafted from it.

"_Eruanna,_" Amondaur repeated, as he had in the car. "_Anna—Hanna. Gift. You have been a gift to me, Anna._"

Hannah bit her lip and felt tears jump into her eyes. "_You have given me gifts and do not even realize it,_" she answered quietly. "_I believe again._"

Amondaur did not ask her what she believed, but he seemed to understand that he had given her Hope. He pulled her into a tight hug. Hannah felt one of the tines of the Star of the Dúnedain poke into the back of her head.

"Thank you," he whispered, and kissed the top of her head.

"_Le hannon,_" she replied.

He released her. "_Are you sure you can find your way back to the road in the dark?_" he asked concernedly.

"_Yes. Now go, quickly!_"

Amondaur took a deep breath, and picked up his bag of clothes again. Then he strode purposefully toward the tree, barely pausing before he stepped into the moonlight.

It fell brightly on him, making the Star of the Dúnedain spark with sudden flame. He turned one more time to look back at Hannah, and she caught her breath at the sight. A Ranger, with cloak, brooch and sword, standing in the moonlight and the starlight—how could she _ever_ have doubted that he was what he said he was? He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling with joy, and raised a hand in farewell.

Hannah waved back. "_Namárië_," she whispered impulsively.

The air between them shimmered, and Amondaur and the moonlit tree vanished from view. Hannah stood in the middle of the state park in the cold and the dark, with a heart warmer than it had been in years.

**TBC**

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AN:** Huge thanks to **lathalian** for filling me in on psych hospital security! It was a great help! 

**Jaffee Leeds:** Right on time! How's this for service? lol


	12. Epilogue

Hannah made her way back to her car in the dark, careless of the thorns that caught at her, and drove slowly back to campus. Her cell phone rang once while she was in the car, but she didn't answer it. Only when she was back in her room did she do so.

It was Ron Keller.

"Miss D'Angelo, we just wanted to inform you that Amondaur has escaped from the hospital. The police have not yet been able to track him down."

"Oh my gosh!" Hannah replied, hoping she could lie better over the phone than in person.

"He escaped only a few minutes after you came to see him, and we wondered if you had seen any indication that he might have been planning such a thing?"

"No, I didn't. How did he get out?"

"He had a key. We think it was yours; that he either found it or stole it from you."

"Oh my gosh!" Hannah repeated. "I am so sorry!"

"So am I." She heard him sigh on the other end. "We tried to call you before. There are some experts here, who would like to examine Amondaur's personal effects. Could you bring them back?"

"Uhm…" Hannah bit her lip. "I—don't have them."

"What?"

"The reason I didn't answer the phone was that I left it back in my dorm room. After I picked up Amondaur's stuff, I ran an errand and then went to my friend's house. I totally forgot to lock my car, and I only realized when I got back to the school, that Amondaur's stuff was missing from the back seat! I was going to call you, but you beat me to it."

"It was stolen?"

"Yeah. I thought it was just some juvenile delinquent or something, but if Amondaur escaped right about that time… I mean, I was parked just down the street by that pharmacy…"

Ron Keller sighed again. "Amondaur himself probably took them. He knew you were going to that pharmacy?"

"Yeah, I mentioned it. And I had his stuff with me when I went to talk to him, so he knew I had it and would put it in my car. I am so sorry." She didn't have to lie about the last part. She really was sorry to put the people at the hospital—not to mention the cops—to so much trouble. But it couldn't be helped.

"Well," Ron said finally, "We will let you know when the police find him. Any thoughts on where he might have gone?"

"The state park," Hannah answered immediately, knowing that the portal was closed and no one could find it. She was heartily thankful the police hadn't thought to check there first and found her car by the road.

"Thanks. I'll call you with developments." Dr. Keller hung up.

000

Mark called half an hour later.

"The experts left. I'm guessing it went off alright?"

"Yep! He's back in Middle-earth." Hannah couldn't suppress the smile that crossed her face.

"Great." She heard him heave a sigh of relief. "I was worried the portal might have closed before he got there."

"No, I think it was… waiting for him," Hannah answered.

"So I guess you're out of a job," Mark continued.

"Yeah, I guess so." Hannah shrugged, even though he couldn't see it. "Oh well. My parents have been offering to help me with expenses for some time. Maybe I'll finally take them up on their offer. I'm going home next weekend. We have a lot to talk about."

There was a moment of silence. "You sound very happy," Mark said, sounding pleased himself.

"I am," Hannah answered, smiling from ear to ear. "A lot happier than I've been for a long time."

"It's too bad I won't see you every day at the hospital anymore," Mark continued. "You'll just have to come to dinner with me Wednesday night."

"Are you asking me out?" Hannah teased.

"Yes, I am. Are you accepting?"

"Yes."

"Great. And I'll have a present for you," he added.

"A present? What is it?"

"A photo of Amondaur I'm printing off from the security footage," Mark answered with a laugh. "Something to remember him by."

"I'm hardly likely to forget!" Hannah replied. "But thank you. I'd love that."

"I've got to get going, or my boss is going to get suspicious. Wednesday at six, then? In front of your dorm?"

"Wednesday it is," Hannah agreed. "Call me."

"I will. We have a lot to talk about!" He hung up.

"So we do," Hannah said quietly, as she hung up the phone. She flopped onto her bed and lay there, an irrepressible smile on her face. "So we do."

**The End**

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SongMaster:** lol That's _fascinating!_

**Cindy (and anybody else who wondered)**: While it would be interesting for Hannah to go through the door, I don't think that the door would have allowed it. Also, Amondaur came from two years before the War of the Ring, which is not a good time to go sightseeing in Middle-earth. Thirdly, her parents already lost one daughter: they don't need to lose another! And what would happen to her relationship with Mark? And to top it all off, it would just be too predictable and Mary-Sueish. :)

**Thank you all! I love my reviewers! Please review!**


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